


what a sight for sore eyes

by ohpleaselarry



Category: Larry Stylinson - Fandom, One Direction (Band)
Genre: Angst, Blowjobs, Cuddling, Denial, Fingerfucking, Fluff, Holding Hands, Kissing, Larry Playlist Collection, M/M, Mild Painplay, Prostate Milking, Sassy Louis, Sort Of, Top!Harry, Unrequited Love, bottom!Louis, but it’s not actually obviously, kinda crackfic tbh, probably my first fic where it isn’t shared lmao
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-11
Updated: 2020-11-11
Packaged: 2021-03-10 00:35:30
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 24,216
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27505438
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohpleaselarry/pseuds/ohpleaselarry
Summary: Louis’ playing Danny in their uni’s production of Grease. They’re missing a Sandy, and Harry’s sort of been in love with Louis for a year.Everything else just kind of happens..heather - conan gray (song 2 of my Larry Playlist collection)
Relationships: Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson
Comments: 9
Kudos: 120





	what a sight for sore eyes

**Author's Note:**

> So I know the song is sad, but my last fic was so angsty that I decided to turn this one around a bit. I’ll talk about this more in the bottom note as to avoid spoilers!
> 
> Hope yall enjoy, I’m LOVING this playlist thing I’m doing, and while I already have five songs queued, please don’t be shy to request one 💚
> 
> (For any newbies, basically I just listen to a song and write a fic around the lyrics. If I write your suggestion, I’ll give you credit in that fic’s note!) 
> 
> (PS: to my crankiplier readers, I haven’t stopped writing those bois, don’t worry! I just gotta get my excitement for this collection out of my head all day before I can finish that long fic)

_ ‘ _ _i still remember third of december, me in your sweater, you said it looked better, on me than it did you, only if you knew, how much i liked you~_ ’

-

Ten minutes after his shift in the campus bakery ends, Harry steps into the drama building with a shiver. 

Having his head stuck in an oven all day, he usually doesn’t bother with coats, knowing he’d be hot after his shift. Sometimes though, it’s fucking three days into December and could easily start snowing at any point in the day. 

“I can see your nipples.” Niall greets him with as he steps into the green room. 

“Yeah, didn’t think it’d be so cold today.” Harry sighs, settling his bag at one of the various vanities. 

“It’s, like, winter? Why wouldn’t it be cold?” Niall deadpans, standing up and poking his nipple over his white t-shirt, eyeing the brown paper bag clutched in Harry’s hand. 

“Not for you.” Harry holds the bag away before the boy can even attempt to grab it, and walks through the green room towards the backstage door. 

“Hey! No food on the stage!” Niall calls. Harry flips him off without looking and steps through the door. He can hear Louis before he sees him, doing some long dialogue about a French Revolution or something, his sweet raspy voice echoing through the whole theatre despite being without a microphone. 

Harry steps through the prop tables and clothing poles and whatnot and stops at the curtains, peeking onto the stage itself. 

Louis is centre stage, sat on a black shadow box, hand clutching his own shirt passionately, eyebrows furrowed as he tries to convince the audience to join the revolution, the stage dark besides the single spotlight on him. 

He’s wearing that dark green polyester jumper that Harry loves on him. His heart does a little flutter like it always does when the elder is in his sight. 

“..think of your future. Join us.” The boy stands up from the box, breathing heavily like he might just burst with the passionate speech. 

A beat, and then his face and body relaxes, hand moving to brush his hair out of his eyes, smiling out to the rows and rows of seats that Harry can’t see without peeking around the side curtains. 

“That was great, Louis,” Liam’s voice comes over the speakers from the audience, “now I’m going to go to the balcony, and you will do the first 32 bars of Sandy to see how your projection is while singing.” 

There’s a bit of shuffling on the mic as Liam moves, and Harry leans against the wall next to the curtain levers, watching Louis clear his throat and fiddle with his shirt. 

Someone out of his view hits a note on a piano, and Louis hums back the same note again. 

“Alright, when you’re ready.” Liam’s voice on the speaker says, and Louis nods. 

Harry watches the transformation happen right before his eyes. Louis’ stance becomes defeated, his face falls, and he looks up towards the balcony seats like he’s truly broken-hearted. 

“Stranded at the drive-in, branded a fool..” his voice is just as beautiful as it’s always been. Harry’s teeth dig into his teeth as he tries to hold back a stupid grin. Louis does a bit of moping around as he sings, eyes shining brightly in the spotlight that follows him around the stage, then he sits at the shadow box again as he finishes the bars with a sad frown. 

“Okay, awesome. Thank you Louis, we’ll be in touch.” 

“Thanks, Liam.” Louis grins, all resemblance of sad Danny Zuko falling from his face as he throws up a wave and exits the stage. 

Their eyes meet, and then Louis is grinning, pace increasing to give him a big hug as if they didn’t just see each other earlier for lunch. 

“For me?!” The boy asks hopefully, eyes on the paper bag when he pulls from the hug. 

“Yep, it’s the raspberry thumbprint cookie you like. Just a little charm for callbacks, not that you need it.” Harry bumps their shoulders as they step out of the door back to the green room. As soon as they’re out of the theatre itself, Louis’ reaching into the bag. 

“You’re the best, and it’s true. He’s mostly just doing callbacks so it doesn’t seem like there’s favouritism. There’s no doubt I’ll get Danny.” The boy plops onto a stool in front of a vanity, taking a bite of his cookie with a happy groan that Harry’s definitely going to think about later. 

“So what’s next? More audition stuff?” Harry admittedly doesn’t know much about the whole musical theatre thing. Everything he knows has come from being around Louis. 

“Usually the cast list would go out within the next week, but until we find a Sandy, there’s no list.” The boy’s spilling crumbs, not even seeming to care. Harry just watches, sometimes can’t do anything but watch. 

“You can’t find a Sandy? Aren’t there usually  _too_ many talented girls for these things?” 

“They’re called  _musicals_ , and yeah, I don’t know what—hey you wanna go get a tea before the Rizzo callbacks start?” Louis stands up, completely abandoning the sentence he was saying, attention like a goldfish sometimes. There’s one more bite left in his cookie, which he holds up to Harry’s mouth. 

“I got it for you..” he says, stomach flipping at the way Louis’ blue eyes are just looking at him expectantly. 

He opens up and lets himself be fed, and Louis watches his mouth as he chews, inhaling very slowly. Harry can’t do anything but stare right back, wanting to lean in closer. They aren’t too far apart, it would hardly take much effort. His heart races with the urge, like it does every time Louis gets close enough that he can see every fucking pretty eyelash that fans over his cheekbones. 

“I’ll get my coat.” Louis says, then he turns and leaves the green room. Harry swallows the cookie, and wonders how the hell he managed to fall for his best mate in a uni with thousands of others. 

Though, when Louis steps back into the room wearing his denim coat with the wool collar over that dark green sweater, can anyone really blame him? He’s just..beautiful. In every sense of the word. 

The boy takes his wrist and leads him out of the green room, then out of the building completely. He’s telling a story about some party where Niall had gotten shirtless and danced on a tabletop, and Harry can’t do anything but follow along and smile like a loon at the way Louis gesticulates wildly and grins as he remembers the party. 

“Sounds like it was fun.” Harry says, shivering and crossing his arms. He really should have worn anything warm whatsoever. 

“You would have liked it if you weren’t so focused on boring  _essays_. Stop a sec.” 

They come to a halt in the middle of the walkway, and people step around them without complaint. Harry feels awkward about it but it’s Louis. The boy could part a sea of people if he wanted to. Has, probably. 

He watches with a dry mouth as Louis peels off his denim coat and sticks it between his legs, then pulls his green jumper off. He’s wearing just a black t-shirt underneath, which rides up to show his hips a bit. He sets the jumper in Harry’s hands then pulls the coat back on. 

“Wha?”

“Put it on, H, don’t know why the fuck you only wore a shirt today.” 

“The bakery’s warm.” Harry mumbles, as if it’s an excuse, and probably too eagerly sticks his head in the jumper. It smells like him, and it fits perfectly, since it was loose on the boy. 

“Thank you.” He says, pulling the sleeves over his thumbs and smiling. When he looks at Louis, he’s sort of just looking right back at him, eyes glazed over. 

It’s times like these when Harry thinks his feelings could be mutual, when Louis lingers. He’s done it on quite a few occasions, the lingering thing. His piercing eyes will rake over him slowly, his mouth just slightly slacked. 

And then it’s over within a few seconds, and Louis reaches over and yanks a loose string out of the jumper, knuckles brushing his arm. 

“No problem.” Louis replies, and then they’re walking again, and Harry’s chewing his whole fucking bottom lip off, wishing that he could go with his gut and make a move, but how could he? 

Louis is the biggest theatre-involved member in the whole university, he has so many friends that he can barely go a minute without someone texting him asking to hang out. He’s loud and bright and incredibly funny. 

Harry’s just the clumsy kid who pissed on his shoe in a toilet last year. It was pure luck that they just happen to get on really well and Louis decided to keep him around. 

They grab teas from the café truck that sits near the quad, then turn to start back to the theatre. 

“Speaking of parties, Niall’s rugby friend James is throwing one tonight.” Louis waggles his eyebrows. Their hands brush as they walk side by side, and the second time it happens Louis just catches it, tangling their fingers, sipping at his tea at the same time. 

Harry’s heart tumbles like shoes in a dryer, and he just prays his hands don’t start to sweat. It’s a normal thing for them, to hold hands. Louis’ a very hands-on person, and had cuddled with him before they’d even known each other for a full day. Thinking back, maybe Harry was just fucked from the start. 

“Are you going to go?” He asks, totally casual and definitely not purposely walking a bit slower so they can hold hands longer. 

“Only if you come with.” The boy grins, eyes all twinkly and heartbreakingly sweet. 

“Okay..but I don’t want to get too pissed. I have a quiz tomorrow.” Harry replies as they make their way back into the fine arts building. 

“Even if I promise to give you lots of water and paracetamol?” Louis squeezes his hand and then takes it away to open the door to the green room. 

“Yeah, even then. Here—“ he starts to take off the jumper now that they’re back into the heated room. 

“No, keep it on. Looks better on you anyway. Matches your eyes.” Louis downs the rest of his tea with a smile and sets his bag down, picking up a script someone’s set on the piles of boxes, opening it up to read on it. The Rizzo callbacks start soon, so Harry tries not to enjoy the borrowed jumper too much and finishes his tea as well, stumbling over his toes a bit as he tosses the empty cup. 

“Hey, clumsy, sing Sandy’s part?” Louis hands him the script, opened up to You’re the One That I Want. Harry blanches, looking around the room at the people milling about, putting on makeup or messing with props and costumes as they prepare for the rehearsals which are fast approaching. 

“But—“

“C’mon, I need the practice, it’s a duet so I have to get used to singing with someone.” Louis’ bottom lip juts out in a pout, and Harry’s helpless. Always so helpless. 

“Okay.” 

Louis grins, pout dissipating immediately, and he steps over to a costume box, yanking out a leather jacket that’s far too fucking big on him, then he runs his hands through his hair, trying to get it to lay over his head as if it’s greased. Only half of it goes, the rest still flopping over his forehead in a fringe. 

Then the boy dramatically throws the jacket on and steps up to him, giving him a heavy once over. 

“I got chills, they’re multiplying..” he fucking croons, seeming to not care about the fact that he’s just breaking out in song in the middle of a crowded room. 

Harry’s chest constricts at the whole picture of it all. The outfit and his voice and his steely blue eyes sparkling brighter than the whole sky. His performance eases Harry’s nerves, and by the time his part comes up, he’s standing with his hands on his hips like he’s truly playing hard to get, eyes narrowed. 

“You better shape up, cause I need a man, and my heart is set on you!” He sings back, poking at Louis’ chest and walking him backwards. The boy grins, and then they’re dancing, reenacting the moves messily, both trying to remember how it goes, the script thrown to the side because, really, who doesn’t know the lyrics?

“You’re the one that I want, oh oh oh!” They sing together, doing the shimmy shoulder move, and it’s so fucking silly that they’re laughing by the end of the chorus, muffing the lyrics a bit, but neither care. 

Louis reaches for him and spins him, and they just keep singing the verse over and over, until they’re just singing way too loudly, obnoxiously, and eventually they just burst into laughter, falling into each other as the people in the room hoot and holler. 

“Harry!” Liam’s leaning in the doorway, eyes wide, pen tapping at his chin, “can you come over for a mo’?” 

Louis pushes him towards the guy, both of them still giggling like children. Harry saunters over, shaking his hair to straighten it out after the chaos. 

“Sup?” He asks once he’s at him, looking at the clipboard in his hands. It’s a list of characters, with auditioned people written in next to them, some circled as they’re decided for the role. There’s only one name next to Sandy, with a question mark next to it. He doesn’t recognise the name. It’s probably a first year. 

“I’m going to ask you something, and I want you to just be open-minded about it, okay?”

“Okay, I think I’m rather open-minded.” Harry shrugs, crossing his arms and glancing over his shoulder to see Louis is going through his rucksack, probably stealing his calculator so he’ll be fucked in calculus later. The usual. 

“I’d like you to audition for Sandy.” Liam says probably the last thing he was expecting. Harry blinks in surprise, immediately thinking it’s a joke, but Liam’s face remains stoic, just waiting for an answer. 

“The  _female_ lead? Look, I know my hair’s getting long and sometimes I paint my nails—“

“I want you to play it as a male. Sandy is a unisex name, and it’s 2020! Why not make it gay?” 

“I mean, yeah that’s fair, but I’m not—I’m not, like, an actor, I’m an English Major. I’m just here with Louis. My only experience is playing a mouse at five.” 

“Just give it a try, please? It’s just an audition, it doesn’t mean you’ll 100% get it. I just watched your little performance, you two are great together. The singing, and the way you move together. It looks fluid even though the moves aren’t necessarily good.” Liam’s nearly begging, and Harry chews on his lip, considering it. 

“I’d be so shit. I’m clumsy and I’m bad at the projecting thing or whatever.” 

“You aren’t clumsy with him, and we can work on everything else. We have 72 rehearsals to get you performance ready. Besides, it’s just an audition. Like I said, it doesn’t mean you’re going to get it.” 

“Well..can I, like, think about it?” He thinks he may be hinting toward yes too much, because then Liam’s grinning and jotting his name down. 

“Meet me on the stage in 10!” The guy says excitedly, leaving the room before Harry can protest even a little. He huffs and dazedly walks back over to Louis, who seems to be trying to type curse words into his calculator. 

“Liam wants me to try out for Sandy.” 

“Audition,” Louis corrects, before his eyes widen comically wide, “wait what? The female lead?” 

“That’s what I said!” Harry complains, throwing his hands up and sitting at a vanity. 

“Well, it’s not  _that_ weird. Peter Pan’s usually played by a female. Gender swapping is pretty common around here.”

“No, he wants me to play it as male. I think he’s trying to make a statement.” Harry sags in his seat, stomach all balled up and twisting just imagining being on that stage with eyes on him and that spotlight making every one of his facial movements clear as day. 

“Well..why not? It’d be fun, too. Now instead of only seeing each other for lunch and around rehearsal, we’ll have so much time to fuck around.” 

Harry chews on his lip, looking to his mate with a flush. It  _would_ be nice, to have all that time together. Then he realises something way too fucking late. Like, years too late. 

“If I get Sandy..isn’t there a kiss?” 

“Maybe. Why, you don’t want these lips?” Louis chuckles, poking the toe of his vans into Harry’s boots, then he just sort of wraps their ankles together. 

“I-I..you’d be okay with that? Playing a gay Danny Zuko?” Harry decidedly does  _not_ answer Louis’ question. He’s a shit liar, and Louis would probably see right through him. 

“I’m an actor, H. I’m fine with playing anything. Besides, if I have to kiss a dude, I’d rather it be you instead of one of these mugs.” He gestures to the room. Harry wrings his fingers together, imagining a kiss. Imagining a kiss with Louis. Imagining a kiss with Louis who is playing the part of someone who’s in love with him. God. Even on a stage in front of people, it’d be incredible to kiss him. Sometimes  _all_ he can think about is kissing him. He checks the time. 

“Well, I guess I should go, then. Can you come watch? Pull me off stage and smuggle me to another country if I make a fool of myself?” Harry asks, palms feeling warm just anticipating it. 

Louis jumps up with an excited noise, pulling him out of his chair and leading him out of the green room. 

“As if I’d miss this! You’re going to do great, just don’t think about it too much, just be yourself, and make sure you’re always cheating out to the crowd, even if you’re turned.” Louis speaks a mile a minute, accent thick, and Harry can’t help but laugh, tripping up a bit as he’s led through the dark backstage area and to the wings. 

The stage is lit by a single spotlight, and Harry halts immediately, causing Louis to be yanked back. The boy turns with a scoff, but his face softens when he sees what is probably his nerves showing. 

Then he’s got Louis all up in his space, the boy tilting up onto his tiptoes to hug him. Harry soaks up the feeling of hugging Louis, head turning so his nose touches his neck. He feels nimble fingers touch at his hair, scratching at his scalp in the way that always calms him. 

“You’re gonna smash it, Haz,” Louis pulls away, but not before slapping a wet kiss to his cheek, “break a leg.” 

Harry chuckles nervously, front going cold as soon as they pull away from each other. He steps up to the edge of the curtains, hesitating. He’s only there for a few seconds, before Louis’ hand touches at the small of his back, urging him forward. 

Stepping out onto the stage, he focuses very carefully on not tripping until he gets to the spotlight, centre stage. 

“Harry, thank you for auditioning. I assume you don’t have anything prepared?” 

He hears Liam’s voice, but when he looks up, he finds that with the bright spotlight, he can only just barely see the first few rows of seats. Immediately, his nerves start to fade. He doesn’t have to look anyone in the eye. 

“Uh, no, sorry.”

“All good. Do you know any dialogue? Something from a movie or a book, maybe?” 

“I think I remember the first part of Romeo and Juliet.” Harry says, trying to talk louder, knowing Liam’s probably up at the balcony. It’s hard to tell when he’s using a mic. 

“Perfect! I’d like you to say as much as you remember, while acting as though you’re someone who’s just fallen in love. Let’s pretend the dialogue is a love confession, yeah?” 

“Okay, yeah.” Harry nods, and Liam tells him to just start when he’s ready. 

It’s a risky move, he knows it is, but he looks to the wings, eyes meeting Louis’. The boy sends him a thumbs up, probably thinking he just needs reassurance. He’s casted in shadow but it’s plenty enough. Act like he’s in love? It’s easy, almost too easy. 

“Two households, both alike in dignity, in fair Verona, where we lay our scene..” Harry looks back to the seats, but with Louis’ face fresh in his mind, his heart races. If he tries hard enough, he can actually pretend he’s confessing his love. Can pretend Louis is sat in the audience, and he’s smiling. 

He abruptly stops in the middle somewhere, where he can’t remember how the rest goes.

“That was lovely, Harry! Now, I’d like you to sing a bit. Sandy has a heartbroken ballad, Hopelessly Devoted to You, do you know it?” 

“I’ve heard a bit, but not really, no.” Harry puts his hands behind his back nervously. Singing with Louis as they danced like fools in a room is one thing. On a stage with a bright spotlight on him? He might be shaking a bit. 

“Alright, well let’s just go with something familiar. It’s December, now, how about a Christmas song? Anything, just sing a verse and the chorus. When you’re ready.” 

Harry thinks for a moment, and glances to the wings once again. Louis steps forward just enough that he’s a bit more visible, then he touches his finger to his lips in a ‘be quiet’ signal, then he puts his hands together and touches them to his cheek, closing his eyes like he’s going to sleep. It only takes Harry moments to realise what he’s trying to say. 

“Silent night, holy night, all is calm, all is bright..” he starts to sing, turning back to the front when he sees Louis grin and cheer silently. 

When he’s finished, he hears a chair creak somewhere in the audience. 

“That’s great, Harry. We’ll let you know.” 

“Thank you.” Harry says, then scampers off the stage and right into Louis’ arms. The boy cheers obnoxiously and pulls him into a big hug, ruffling his hair. 

“That was so good! Holy shit, where’ve you been hiding these skills?! Even I can’t pretend I’m in love like that!” 

Harry laughs, shrugging as if he doesn’t know. As if he hasn’t been in love for months and knows exactly how it feels. Back in the green room, Louis gushes about how good Harry was and how they’re going to lead a musical together and how great it’s going to be and Harry’s a blushing mess by the time they decide to leave. 

Outside, Louis walks him to the bus stop, even though the boy lives in a flat two minutes away. He always walks him to the stop. Harry’s dorm is across campus, and he could walk the twenty minutes over, but it’s fucking cold so he’d rather not. 

“I should give this back before it’s lost in my laundry forever.” Harry tugs on the sleeves of the borrowed jumper, but Louis just laughs, bumping their shoulders together. 

“Give it back some other time when it’s not your only saviour from getting ill.” 

“Should I wear it to the party?” 

“No, wear that one shirt you have. The, like..” Louis wriggles his fingers down his front with sound effects, and Harry laughs, getting that urge to kiss him again. 

“Are you talking about the sparkly black one? It goes a bit deep in the front.” 

“I know. Gotta show off the ink if you want the birds.” Louis pokes his chest over one of the swallows that neither of them can see but they both know are there. 

“Don’t call women birds, Lou. S’ rude.”

“Oh sorry, if you want the  _respectable_ _women_.” Louis says with a posh accent. Harry can’t stop his grin, it’s just infectious when they’re together. Can’t stop smiling. His cheeks always hurt after a day with Louis. 

When he looks up from smiling at the ground, he finds Louis’ eyes aren’t on him anymore, they’re somewhere off behind them. Harry follows his eye-line and finds exactly what he was hoping he wouldn’t. 

Heather Cameron walks along the walkway in front of the maths building, talking to another girl she’s probably friends with. 

Harry watches Louis watch her, and gets a very familiar tug on his heartstrings. Louis and Heather had been introduced a little over a month ago at a Halloween party. According to Louis, they snogged for an hour that night and she’d said she hoped to see him again. They didn’t even exchange numbers, but every-time she walks by, Louis stares, and Harry hurts. 

“If she’s at the party tonight you should ask her out.” Harry mumbles, trying to sound supportive instead of jealous. He knows his place, at the end of the day. He knows Louis isn’t into guys, let alone him. He knows Louis’ tendency to linger and touch him is because they’re just close. They just get on very well and its nothing else. He knows all of this, but he still gets jealous. 

“I doubt she’ll remember me.” 

“She does.”

“How do you know?” Louis finally looks away and back to him, eyes narrowed. 

“You’re hard to forget.” Harry says, swallowing thickly and looking away as the bus pulls up. Usually, he’s disappointed and would rather sit in the cold with his favourite person, but now his chest aches and he definitely wants to escape Louis’ heart eyes and just general heterosexuality. 

“James’ at 8, don’t forget!” Louis calls after him after he turns to get on the bus. Harry sends him a thumbs up, but finds it hard to maintain his smile once he’s alone on the bus, especially when he’s sat and looks out of the window to see Louis’ turned towards the maths building where Heather’s gone in, watching the doors like he’s just wishing to catch another glimpse of her. 

He sulks in his seat, heartbroken, but used to it. 

‘ _ but i watch your eyes, as she walks by, what a sight for sore eyes, brighter than the blue sky, she’s got you mesmerised, while i die~’ _

-L-

“What’re you wearing to the party?” Liam asks, stepping into the living room holding two different pairs of jeans. 

“Just this. Go with the darker ones.” He looks back to his phone, where he’s scrolling through Twitter idly. 

“Is your boy coming?” 

“Yeah, finally got him away from the books for once. I’m thinking I’ll introduce him to Kendall.” Louis smiles down at his phone. He’s determined to get his best mate laid tonight. In the whole year and some they’ve known each other, he’s yet to see Harry pull at a party. 

“She’s in the lead for Frenchy. Why’re you introducing them?” 

“To get him fucked, obviously. What kind of wingman you take me for?” Louis looks up from his phone, ready to be offended, but Liam looks genuinely confused. 

“Wait, you’re serious? Like a threesome?” 

They both blink at each other for a few incredibly awkward seconds. 

“The hell you on about?” 

“I don’t get why you’re setting your boyfriend up.” 

“We’ve been over this, Li, Harry and I aren’t dating. You’ve known me for, like, five years, when have I ever been into a dude?” 

“Um, half a minute ago when I said ‘your boy’ and you knew who I was talking about? All of the times I catch you two cuddling or holding hands? I thought you were just trying to keep it lowkey and that’s why you were denying it?” Liam sets down his jeans and sits next to him, eyes wide and lip jut out like he’s disappointed. 

“I’m a cuddly person—“

“You don’t cuddle me!”

“You asking to be cuddled?” Louis raises an eyebrow, and sets down his phone. It must show on his face, because immediately Liam stands up. 

“No, I’d rather not,” he shrieks as Louis stands up, chasing after him through the flat, “go cuddle your  _definitely_ not boyfriend!”

Louis catches him in the hallway, and they crash to the floor in a heap, his arms around Liam’s waist as he cuddles up to him with a laugh. The boy relaxes under him with a defeated sigh. 

“You’re actually not dating? I’ve never seen you act like you do with him.” 

“We just get on really well, mate. We just know each other on a different level. He’s my boy, but he’s not my  _boyfriend_ , you know?” Louis hopes he understands, because he sort of doesn’t really understand it himself. It’s always been different with Harry, since the day they met. He can’t even remember his life before then, and he never stopped to wonder about it. Never needed to, because Harry never did either. They never talked about how close they got and how quickly that happened. Some people just click, he supposes. 

“Well, either way, I don’t think Kendall will work out, and I think you trying to set him up with girls is probably  _why_ he’s never pulled with you.” 

“What do you mean?” Louis finally climbs off of him, pulling him up from the floor. 

“He swings the other way, man, how do I know this and you don’t?” 

“Wh—he’s never said he’s gay, Li.” 

“Sure, but he’s never said he’s straight. Gotta change now. Consider setting him up with Nick, instead.” Liam grins and picks up his jeans, heading back to his room. 

Louis stands in the hallway with his mouth just slacked dumbly. He always assumed Harry was just shy or something, and that’s why he never got with the endless girls Louis’ always introducing him to. Why would he not say something? Wouldn’t he tell him? They’re best mates, surely Harry would’ve told him he’s gay. Right?  _Right_?

-

He’s all on edge by the time he gets to the party, and he barely responds to the people greeting him, scanning the rooms until he spots that head of curls, towering over the kitchen counter since he’s so tall. Louis storms right up to him, poking him in the chest. 

“Lou!” Harry greets with a grin, wobbling a bit like he’s already tipsy, “what’s wrong?” 

“Do you want me to set you up with Kendall tonight?” Louis asks, narrowing his eyes at the boy, who blinks slowly and looks around the room like he’s seeing if he spots her. 

“Uh, she’s cool, but I don’t think—“

“Would you rather me set you up with Nick?” He watches Harry pale a bit, and the boy sets his beer down and steadies himself on the counter, frown taking over his face. 

“Louis—“

“Are you gay, Harry?” He knows the boy hates to be interrupted, but he’s a bit short tempered now. Harry chews on his lip, and takes his wrist and leads him away from the kitchen and into the laundry room where nobody is, closing the door behind them. 

“How did you find out? Did Niall tell you? Fuck, I’m too tipsy for this conversation.” 

“Niall knows?! Why am I the last person to find out? I’m your best mate! I’ve been setting you up with girls all year! Why did you let me do that?” 

“I dunno, I thought you’d hate me.” Harry’s eyes are wide and panicked, and Louis’ face softens when he notices his hands are shaking, too. With a sigh, he reaches out and pulls him into a hug. Harry curls into him with a stutter of an exhale. 

“Of course not, H. I don’t care if you’re gay or not. Hell, I’m a musical theatre major, I’m surrounded by gay people most of my day. I just wish you’d told me so I didn’t make you uncomfortable so much.” 

“You never make me uncomfortable.” Harry mumbles into his hair, barely audible over the music and the loud people outside of the room. 

Louis pulls out of the hug and sees there’s a bit of tears coming out of Harry’s pretty eyes. He huffs a sad laugh, reaching up to wipe them away. 

“I’m sorry, please don’t cry.” 

“I’m not sad, it’s just always weird, to be accepted. There’s plenty who don’t feel the same. I just thought you’d stop, like, holding my hand when I’m cold or whatever.” Harry’s cheeks pink, and Louis can’t help but laugh. 

“Hey, I’ll never stop holding your hand,” he leans back and straightens up the nice shimmery black shirt Harry actually did wear, “let’s go. Nick’s the school radio host and he’s a bit of a wanker, you’ll like him.” 

Harry giggles and follows him, smiling all shy as he’s introduced, and sends Louis a thumbs up as Nick ushers him away back to the bar. Louis grins and sends one back. 

There’s a weird feeling in the pit of his stomach. Must’ve been the cookie from earlier. 

It’s nearing midnight and Louis’ only one drink in, honestly rather feeling uninterested in the party for once. He sort of just wants to go home and read over the Grease script a bit more. Do a bit of pre-memorising before he’s even given the Danny role. 

Before he dips, he decides to make sure he’s followed through on his challenge to get Harry laid. He finds the boy laying on the outdoor couch on the back patio near the pool, head in a girl’s lap who’s passed out. He’s singing to himself, some song about winter and jumpers or something. 

“Where’s Nick?” Louis asks, stepping up next to the couch and touching his knee to the boy’s hip. 

“Sent him away. Sing with me!” Harry reaches up with grabby hands like a baby, and Louis huffs a laugh, helping him up instead. Harry stumbles terribly, definitely more than tipsy. 

“Thought you didn’t want to get pissed?” He asks, guiding Harry with a hand on his waist back through the house and into the kitchen, where he grabs two bottles of water. 

“Why wouldn’t I? S’ so nice. No more sad.” Harry says particularly darkly. Louis swallows thickly and finds James in the den. 

“Hey, mind if I take him up for a bit? He has a quiz tomorrow.”

“Paracetamol’s in the medicine cabinet, lube’s in the bedside table.” James says, waving carelessly. Louis flips him off with a laugh and takes Harry upstairs, sitting him on James’ guest bed and finding the medicine. When he comes back to the room, Harry’s unbuttoning his shirt sloppily. 

“Hot? Here, drink. Why’d you send Nick away?” Louis hands him one of the water’s, sitting next to him. 

“He’s not my type.” Harry sighs, only drinking a few sips before he tries to hand it back. 

“Whole thing. What’s your type, then?” 

Harry pouts, but downs half of the water. Louis accepts it, capping it and setting it aside for now. 

“Can’t tell ya.”

“Why not? I’m supposed to get you laid, I need to know your type.” 

Harry leers over at him, blinking slowly. His eyes are red rimmed in his state, greener with the complementary colour surrounding them. 

“Sober me would be so angry if I told you.” Harry whispers vaguely, then he tips forward and scoots up to Louis’ side, hiding his face in his neck. Louis frowns, running a hand over his back anyway, comforting even as he’s confused. 

“Well..can you tell me why you have to drink so you aren’t sad? You’ve never said anything like that before.” 

“Jus’ especially sad today. My type wants somebody else.” Harry might as well be speaking in riddles, but Louis hums like he understands. 

“I see, and what if sh.. _he_ does want you and you don’t realise it?” He’s assuming Harry’s type is just whoever he’s clearly crushing on. 

“Impossible.” Harry mumbles sadly in his neck, his large hand splaying over Louis’ thigh. 

“Nah, you’re great. Any guy in his shithole would be honour—Harry?” Louis’ hand stills in surprise when the boy starts to kiss where his face is hidden. They’ve given each other funny lovebites before, it’s sort of a thing with their group of friends, but slow kisses? Not exactly. 

Harry’s hand on his thigh tightens, and his mouth opens, and then he’s giving him a love bite like he has many times before, except this time it’s a slow burn, it’s wet and warm and Louis is frozen, probably should pull away and laugh and give Harry more water so he’ll sober up. 

“Harry, w-what’re you doing?” He whispers instead, hand not around his back reaching for his arm, but he forgets the part where he’s supposed to push away. Instead, he just grips him uselessly, his head tipping back without his permission when Harry’s kisses go a bit higher, teeth nipping at his jaw. 

“Please, please.” The boy says in a voice that sounds absolutely ruined, hand on his thigh raising higher and higher. 

“What is it?” Louis murmurs, and then Harry pulls away from his neck, and their eyes meet. The boy’s eyes are dilated, mouth slacked. 

“Forget everything, just for a minute, Lou, for me—“ Harry’s slurring terribly. Louis takes his hands away and holds onto the duvet under them, attempting to slide back and out, but Harry just follows, crawling over him, and then he’s being straddled by his best mate who’s eyes are sad and his voice even sadder. 

“I don’t understand, Harry. What do you want?” He asks, panicked. 

“Jus’ for a minute, forget who I am. I want—I want—“ Harry makes a whimper of a noise, and then he bends down over him, following him when Louis settles down into his back, his large hand gripping the sheet next to his head. He leans in, and in, and in, and maybe Louis should protest. Maybe he should say anything whatsoever. 

He’s only had one drink. There’s no excuse. 

Harry kisses him just once. The softest kiss. His lips taste like tequila and lime, because of course they do. 

It’s nowhere near a snog, just a nice sweet kiss, like a greeting, and then Harry very abruptly ducks down, down further, and then starts to mouth at his crotch over his jeans. 

Louis lifts up onto his elbows in surprise, still reeling from the kiss, let alone this. 

“H-Harry!” He exclaims in horror, reaching down to push him away, but when Harry looks up to meet his eyes, the hand on the boy’s shoulder just sort of lingers. Doing nothing. Letting it happen. He’s not even drunk, but his head spins a bit as if he is. He just watches as Harry unbuttons his pants and then pulls down his briefs along with it. He just watches as a Harry uncovers his dick. 

Just watches because he’s hard. Because Harry’s gotten him hard. Then Harry leans in a licks a fat stripe up the underside of his cock. 

“Harry, Harry, this is a terrible idea— _f-fuck_.” Louis’ elbows give out when Harry takes him in, and then the psychopath just keeps going, centimetre by centimetre until his nose tickles the hair at the base of his cock. 

Louis reaches down, thinking maybe he’ll pull him off, but his hands just tangle in Harry’s curls, and he other hand grips the sheet like his life depends on it. As if turns out, Harry gives a really fucking good blowjob. 

“Harry,  _god_.” Louis gives in, forgets why he shouldn’t do this. Why he should stop this, looking down at the boy’s pretty green eyes as they stare right back, obscene lips stretched around him like they were made for this. He tightens his hand in his hair, and Harry moans like he likes it, sending vibrations all over him. 

He’s never been blown by a guy before, but his experiences with girls were never like this. He’s never had it make his stomach swirl so hotly, never had it with a mouth that seems like it’s been waiting it’s whole life for this. 

“M’close, love. You should—“ he chokes off into a breathy moan when Harry’s hand reaches under his chin and fondles his balls a bit. Harry’s moaning every time he hits the back of his throat, like he gets off on the pain or maybe just the fact that he’s pleasing. Maybe even both. 

His back arches when Harry’s tongue flattens on him, mouth open and dribbling spit all over him. It’s so fucking wet and warm and Harry’s yet to look away from him, like he enjoys to watch how he affect him. 

“Gonna..gonna—“ Louis’ moan comes out like a gasp more than anything, toes curling as Harry just fucking takes it all while he comes, hands grasping Louis’ hips to stop him from bucking up.

Louis throws an arm over his eyes and attempts to catch his breath, feeling the boy tuck him back into his pants and button his jeans. Harry crawls back up over him, trailing soft fingers up his chest, sliding under his shirt and stopping above his heart. He wonders how quick is pulse is right now, because it’s making him lightheaded. 

Harry takes his wrist, removing it from his eyes so they can look at each other. His lips are red, his hair a mess from Louis pulling at it. He just  _looks_ like he’s given a blowie. 

“Thank you, baby.” He murmurs, voice somehow three octaves lower after getting his throat filled. The sound and the pet name they don’t really use makes Louis’ stomach heat like he might just get it up again. 

Before he can even attempt to think of something to say, Harry leans in and brushes their lips together, but doesn’t kiss him, and then he crawls off of the bed completely, taking the medicine and water, and stumbling out of the door. 

Louis wants to follow him so he can make sure he gets to his dorm safely. He wants to pull him back into the room and demand to know what the fuck just happened and why and how and what?! 

Instead, he just lies there trying to catch his breath, wondering why he’s disappointed that Harry didn’t fully kiss him. 

-

Louis can barely pay attention in his classes the next day. He sits through music theory and production lighting thinking about nothing but the fact that Harry didn’t actually kiss him. In theatre history, he thinks about the way Harry was so sad, begging him to forget who they were. In acting II, he remembers Harry’s need to pleasure him, but not wanting anything in return. In modern dance, he spends the entire class fidgeting nervously because he knows he’s going to see him afterwards. 

The  _fucking_ cast list is going up today, and it’s immediately followed by a table read, and Louis is so distracted he doesn’t even realise class has been dismissed until the girl next to him taps his shoulder. 

He picks up his board and makes his way outside, skating rather slowly towards the theatre. If it’s not wet or frozen, he usually skates between classes, as it’s faster and just more enjoyable than walking or taking a bus. 

Harry’s nowhere in sight as he steps inside, tucking the board under his arm. The cast list is taped up next to the auditorium entrance, and there’s people around it already, cheering or pouting or hugging. Louis steps up to the list, heart climbing in his throat at the results. 

He got Danny, which was expected. What wasn’t? Harry getting Sandy. 

Louis is highlighting his lines in the script he was given when arms wrap around his waist and a chin settles on his shoulder. He’s sat at a vanity, so he looks up to the mirror. Not that he needs to, he knows who it is. 

Their eyes meet through the glass, and Harry sighs shakily and looks away, turning his head down, forehead to Louis’ shoulder as he starts to mutter just for him to hear. 

“I’m sorry I blew you last night. It was a mistake. I was drunk and I know that’s not an excuse but I guess I had a lot of emotions from coming out to you and, like, I haven’t been with anyone in quite a while and I just—“

“You’re rambling.” Louis sets a hand over Harry’s at his waist, and the boy just holds him tighter, like he might just leave him or something. 

They’ve never really had drama before, if that’s what this could be called. For the whole year and something they’ve known each other, there hasn’t really been anything to cause a fight over. The closest thing to a fight they’ve had is the time Louis snapped at him to shut up when Harry was making noise during his weekly Skype with his sisters. 

Harry had nearly chewed his lips off by the time Louis had finished, and he’d spent most of the day cuddling the boy and apologising for snapping. 

That’s the most that’s happened between them. 

“I’m sorry. I just—do you hate me? It won’t happen again, I don’t even feel like that, I mean—like, I don’t..” he makes a frustrated noise and looks up again. His eyes are glossy when they meet his through the mirror. 

Louis frowns and sets his pen down, standing up and turning in Harry’s arms so they can have a real hug. He wraps his arms around the boy and combs through the curls at the nape of his neck. 

“I don’t hate you. I don’t hate you for being gay and I don’t hate you for last night. To be fair, I was sober and didn’t do shit to stop it, so really I should be the one apologising—“

“No—“

“ _And_ , I know you don’t have feelings for me or whatever. I know we’re best mates. The only thing I’m confused about is why you’re sad and why you wanted to forget who we were. I just..are you okay?” 

Harry pulls away from the hug enough to meet his eyes, huffing a laugh as he wipes his tears away. 

“Yeah, I’m okay. I was just having a weird day yesterday. Everyone has sad days, yeah?” 

“Well sure, but you seemed off. You could’ve taken it further but you didn’t. You didn’t, um, fully kiss me? And you didn’t want anything back. You just left.” 

Harry’s blushing deeply by the end of it, fingers fumbling where they’re resting at the small of Louis’ back. 

“I dunno..I guess that’d be too far? Too non-platonic?” 

“A blowjob is platonic?” Louis raises an eyebrow, and Harry starts to giggle, lowering his head again to hide. 

“So we’re okay?” 

“Of course we’re okay, H. Can’t have anything weird between us during our final kiss on stage.” 

Harry makes a noise that sounds like he might be abruptly overwhelmed. 

“I can’t believe I got Sandy. I’m going to fuck up the whole thing.” 

“You’re going to be great, and I’ll be here the whole time.” 

“You will?” 

“Yeah, duh,” he pulls back and runs a hand through the his hair like a T-Bird, “you know how it is, rockin’ and rollin’ and all that.” 

Harry blinks obliviously for a moment, before he starts to laugh, fingers reaching out to pinch him for being cheeky. Louis untangles them and dodges it, grabbing the first item he sees, a cotton ball, and tossing at Harry’s head. It gets stuck there in his birds nest he calls hair, and then they’re chasing each other around, making a mess of cotton balls, while others in the room just watch on amusedly, but unsurprised. 

“Okay everyone!” Liam steps into the room and Louis and Harry pause, handfuls of cotton balls in their hands, “we’re going to start the table read now, so if you don’t have a script yet, come get one now. Make sure your name is clearly written on the cover.” 

They stand up and Louis returns to the vanity, picking up the script and flipping back to scene one. Harry grabs his own script and plops down next to him. 

“I hate you.” He says, kicking Louis lightly in the shin as he picks cotton from his curls. 

Louis snorts and traps his foot between his own, just staying like that, legs tangled. They spend the whole rehearsal like that, smiling stupidly at each other every time their eyes meet. 

Everything’s back to normal, and Louis couldn’t be more relieved. 

-

It’s not back to normal. 

He doesn’t realise it’s not until two nights later, when he’s studying his lines to prepare for block week, and yawns, rolling over and flipping the script closed. He should sleep. 

Before he does, though, he reaches over under his bed and picks up his small bottle of lube, because he’s a fucking dude in his 20s in uni, screw him. 

He sticks his wet hand under the duvet, already commando for sleep, and wraps a hand around himself as he pulls up a porn site and just clicks on whatever’s at the top for that day. It’s just a generic fuck, the guy taking the girl from behind. 

He gets bored within seconds, so he closes out and clicks on another. 

And another. And another. And another. 

With a huff of annoyance, he tosses his phone and instead just lies his hand on the pillow under him, closing his eyes and thinking up his own shit to get him off. 

It starts simple, just kissing. On a bed? No, in a kitchen, pressed up against the counters. Then they get into it, shedding clothes and going to the couch in the living room that trails off from the kitchen. Louis’ pressed down to the couch and the faceless bodiless person sinks down and unbuttons his jeans. 

Very abruptly, it’s Harry. 

It’s green eyes looking up at him, tongue darting out to lick him. 

Louis makes a noise, stilling his hand, squeezing his eyes shut to try and make the image disappear. He tries to think of someone else, literally  _anyone_ else, but he’s hard as a rock and his hand moves at its own accord. 

He’s almost too sensitive for some reason, free hand fisting into the pillow as he just fucking remembers what happened at the party. Remembers Harry’s lips on his neck, giving him the mark that’s only just now beginning to fade. 

He releases his hand from the pillow and it shakes as he reaches for his neck, touches at the lovebite. It aches dully, bruised.

“F-fuck.” Louis chokes, working himself up too much, losing his coherency as he dives right into the rabbit hole, going further than they had just days before. 

He imagines what could have happened. He imagines pulling Harry back to the bed, returning the favour, watching the boy moan his name, curls splayed over the sheets. He imagines going even further than that. He isn’t incredibly educated in how gay sex goes, but he knows that the ‘male g spot’ can only be found one way. 

He wonders what it would feel like. Imagines Harry showing him. Imagines those freakishly long fingers pressing into him, giving him what he’s never had before. Pressing into him once he’s ready. The closest they could possibly be. 

Louis kicks the duvet off as he gets too hot, and his hand flies over his cock with wet squelching noises, high pitched gasps escaping his mouth, eyes squeezed shut as he pictures. Pictures Harry inside of him. He’s never wanted something like that before. Then again, he’s never even thought of a male in general while wanking. 

He remembers Harry’s ruined voice calling him  _baby_ like it was second nature, and comes. 

As he shakes through the aftershocks, ribbons of come all over his torso, he realises just how screwed he is now. He just thought about his best mate while getting off. Just came thinking about it. At the end of the day, he knows this means he’s at least physically attracted to him. 

It’s not that crazy of a revelation. He’s a theatre major, being around hot guys is a part of his job. He isn’t  _blind_. He knows Harry’s fit. It’s just..it’s Harry. His boy, the person who cried on his shoulder for two hours straight once when their old friend Zayn transferred to a different school. The person who stayed at Louis’ flat for a week back in September when he’d gotten the flu and took care of him. The only person he’s told about how depressed he got after his mum and Mark divorced. 

Adding feelings to their friendship would just fuck it all up. Not that it’s feelings, really. Thinking of his friend physically doesn’t mean he wants to marry the kid or anything. 

The thought sends a jolt through him, and he stands up from the bed immediately and heads right into the shower, not even waiting for it to warm up, soaping up a loofah and scrubbing himself clean desperately. 

After he rinses, he closes his eyes and lets the water rain onto him, and can’t get the thought out of his head. Of non-sexual things. Would he want that? Would he want to kiss Harry? Just to kiss and not to go further? 

He rewashes three times until the scrubbing hurts, but the thoughts don’t leave. They bang around his head like Newton’s Cradle, back and forth, back and forth. He leans heavily against the tile of the wall and might cry a bit, in a very uncool way. 

Okay, so maybe he wouldn’t be opposed to kissing Harry. It doesn’t mean anything, right? It doesn’t mean he wants to date him. It doesn’t mean he’s gay and it doesn’t mean anything has to change. 

Fuck. 

-

“Remember last week when you were surprised Harry and I weren’t dating?” Louis asks definitely very casually as he and Liam study at the dining table. 

Liam looks up from his book with wide eyes. 

“Yeah. Why? You changing your mind?” 

“No,” Louis says too quickly, “I’m just wondering why you thought we were dating. I was thinking about it and now it’s weirding me out.” 

“Well, you’re just different with him, it’s hard to explain. Like, you know how last month you filled my pillowcase with shaving creme because I accidentally messed up your hair?”

“Yeah.” 

“Well just a few days later I saw Harry messing up your hair on  _purpose_ , just putting his hands in it and fucking it upand you just smiled at him like you didn’t even care, and I think you actually didn’t. I don’t mean this offensively, but with Harry you’re just..soft.”

“Soft?!” Louis drops his pen with a gawk, and Liam raises his hands in surrender. 

“Don’t act like you’re not. You treat him differently than everyone else. You don’t call him a cunt every two minutes, you walk him to the bus stop everyday, you bring him snacks. You hold hands and cuddle all the time and I don’t think I’ve ever seen you two together and you  _aren’t_ touching each other.”

“We’re just really close. We understand each other.” Louis’ voice is small, a bit shaky as he realises he doesn’t have a counter to these observations. If Liam sees that much, does that mean everyone else does too? He realises suddenly why he hasn’t been asked out in, well, a little over a year. 

“Louis, think about it, if you were dating Harry, what would change from what you’re doing now? Besides sex and kissing, how different would it even be?” 

“I..” Louis fish-mouths in shock, unable to think of anything. It’s a new thing for him, to be speechless, but he is now. What would be different? Really, what would change? Liam’s right. Besides sex and kissing, he and Harry act like a couple in every other way. 

“I think you’ve been kind of dating him all year, mate. Sorry to be the one to tell you.” Liam doesn’t look sorry at all, smirking as he stands up to grab a drink. 

Louis stares at his homework dumbfounded for ages. He has to change something. He has to fix it, and quickly. Only question is how? How does he stop “dating” Harry without losing him? 

Unless..

-

Heather steps out of the maths building ten minutes before rehearsals start. He probably won’t be late unless this takes really long. 

“Heather! Hey, I don’t know if you remember me..”

“Louis, of course, what’s up?” She smiles politely, and he remembers why they snogged at that party in the first place. She’s just really damn pretty, her Scottish accent giving her a charm, her hair long and blonde, a hint of red within it. Her eyes are green, too. 

_Not as green as Harry’s_ his mind whispers. His smile tightens, probably edging a bit too close to manic. 

“I was wondering if you wanted to go out sometime? Tea, coffee, a movie—“

“Oh, yeah sure! Should I invite some friends?” 

“Well, I was thinking it could just be us two.” 

She blinks like she’s confused, and the silence goes on for a very long minute, before she clears her throat and glances around them as if she’s being pranked. 

“Did you and Harry break up?” 

“H—“ Louis chokes a bit, eyes bugging, “Harry?!” 

“Um, Styles? Aren’t you dating him?” 

“I snogged you at that party, like, just a month ago!” 

“I thought you were having a sexuality crisis or something!” 

“Oh my god..” Louis buries his face in his hands and resists the urge to hurl. What the fuck. Does the entire world think they’re dating? How did he not notice? He notices everything! He knows all the gossip! 

“I’m so sorry, I genuinely thought you were together. I mean, if you actually aren’t, I could go for a coffee sometime.” She sets a hand on his arm, and Louis looks up from his hands with a sheepish laugh. 

“It’s alright. Apparently everyone does. He’s just..my best mate. We’re really close but definitely not like that.” He swallows back memories of Harry’s lips around him immediately and gives her a smile. 

“Well, hand your phone on over, then.” She grins and puts her number in, and Louis promises to take her out the next day for lunch. It’ll be the first lunch in months he hasn’t spent with Harry, but he knows it’s necessary. At the end of the day, he doesn’t really care about the rumour, he mostly cares about how it might affect the two of them. 

He doesn’t want things to change any more than they already drastically have. If Harry finds out about these rumours, he might get the wrong idea. If Louis let’s the rumours continue, he might just let anything happen, and it’ll ruin them. 

He can handle rumours and shit talk and people not asking him out because they think he’s gay, but he couldn’t handle losing Harry. It would kill him. It would actually kill him. 

He’s five minutes late to rehearsal, and he steps into the green room with his board tucked under his arm and Harry’s at him immediately, eyebrows furrowed. 

“You weren’t here after my shift, I tried calling.” 

“Sorry, phone’s in me bag. I, um, I was with Heather.” He watches how the boy takes this information very carefully. His pretty green eyes widen a tad, and immediately, his fingers start fiddling with his rings like he always does when he’s nervous. 

“Heather Cameron?” 

“Yeah. I asked her out for lunch tomorrow.” 

“Oh, that’s great! It’s about time!” Harry laughs, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. His dimples don’t pop. He’s lying right through his fucking teeth. He claps Louis on the shoulder but it’s forced. He whirls and heads for his seat, picking up his script. 

Louis can only watch, and he realises exactly who Harry was talking about that night at the party. He’s the one who’s Harry’s ‘type’. Louis is the one who likes someone else. Louis is the one who made him sad. 

He’s always been great at reading Harry. How he missed whole fucking feelings between them, he’ll never know. 

He sits next to him, opening his script as rehearsal starts. They’re reading through the prom scene today, working through the music in particular. A few lines in, his hand twitches to settle on Harry’s back while they read, and he looks away from the words on the paper and to his own hand in surprise, stopping himself. 

He  _always_ does that. Always touches him idly. Why does he do that? Running his fingers over Harry’s back while they sit together is hardly platonic. Why didn’t he notice he was doing this? Why didn’t Harry make a move ages ago? Surely he’s been getting a hell of a message, even unintended. 

“You okay?” The boy asks, eyebrow raised. Louis looks up from his hand and finds worried eyes and a downward tip to his lips. 

“Yeah, ‘course.” He lies, and with those eyes distracting him, his hand moves without his permission, tucking one of his stray curls back into place. It placates him, and he turns back to his script. 

Louis pulls his hand always like he’s touched fire, heart racing. What the fuck is happening? Why is he so touchy? Why is he sort of dating his best mate? 

He digs his nails into his palms and doesn’t touch Harry for the entire rest of the rehearsal. He’s going to have to work on self control. At the end of it all, they walk to the bus stop and Louis holds his board against his front with both of his hands, leaving neither free just in case they decide to magnetise over to Harry’s without his permission. 

It’s a bit quiet, and the boy keeps glancing at him warily. 

“What is it, curly?” Louis asks, keeping his tone light. How it would be usually. Harry chews at his lip and shrugs. 

“You’re being weird. It’s..it’s the party, innit? I made us weird.” Harry’s eyebrows furrow and he looks to his pigeon toes. Louis’ heart aches and he sets his board down on its side so it doesn’t roll away, and pulls the boy down for a hug. 

“I’m just having a weird day, is all. It’s not you, I promise.” It’s true, at least. It’s himself. Hugging his best mate feels better than it should, and he hadn’t even noticed until now. Never realised that hugging him makes his stomach flutter like he’s some teenage girl or something. Harry gives really fucking good hugs. 

“Are you sure? I feel like I gave you the wrong idea. I’m not..into you or anything. You don’t have to worry about that happening again. I was just having a day. Nothing has to change.” Harry’s lying again. He’s lying right to him, and Louis is left to wonder just how long this has been happening. How long has Harry wanted him? When did it change?

“Of course not, H. Nothing is going to change.”

“So you aren’t avoiding me?” 

“I’ve been with you for the last three hours—“

“You know how I mean.” Harry almost whispers, and Louis realises they’re still hugging because Harry’s hiding his face. He’s nervous that Louis is pulling away. Which he is. 

He isn’t doing very good at the ‘not losing Harry’ plan. He doesn’t want to tell him that they shouldn’t touch as much. Doesn’t want Harry to rethink how they work. Doesn’t want the boy to ever know he’s stopping himself from touching him. 

“I’m sorry, I’m just distracted, I guess. About my date tomorrow.” 

The bus turns into the street, and they finally pull from the hug. Louis ignores his urge to never let go, and puts on his best smile. Harry doesn’t really look convinced, eyebrows knit and frown still on his lips. 

“I’ve never seen you nervous around girls before. She’ll love you, no matter how it goes.” It sounds like he’s speaking from experience, and the thought of Harry loving him like that makes his palms immediately start to sweat. 

“Well, how about you come to my place tomorrow before lunch, yeah? Help me look my best.” He can’t cut Harry off. It won’t work in either of their favour, so he has to pretend nothing is happening. 

It works, and Harry smiles, nodding. 

“Okay. I’ll see you then.” 

“See you then.” Louis stays there smiling manically until the bus is out of sight, then he picks up his board and rides so hard that he’s in a full sweat by the time he makes it to his flat, heart racing with the extrusion. 

He can resist all he wants, but the urge to pull Harry in and kiss him is overwhelmingly strong. It’s going to be a long fucking time until he’s over this. 

In the shower, he wraps a hand around himself and thinks about kissing him. It doesn’t even take anything more. Just thoughts of kissing, and he’s gone. 

God, he’s going to have to kiss Harry in the musical. He’s going to have to play the part of an arsehole pretending he doesn’t have feelings for someone. How fucking ironic. 

-H-

‘ _watch as she stands with her holding your hand, put your arm round her shoulder, now i’m getting colder~_ ’

Harry knows something has changed, but he isn’t sure exactly what it is. 

He picks an outfit out for Louis to wear on his date. That blue button up that looks really fucking good on him, and the boy is all standoffish, the same he was the day before. 

He knows it has to be the party, because what the hell else would it have been? Nothing else was out of place. He says he’s distracted because of his date, but Harry’s seen him nervous. He saw how he was before opening night for the summer production of The King & I. He’s seen him nervous, and this isn’t it. 

His hands are perfectly steady. He’s not straightening up his shirt a million times or fiddling with his hair that already looks great. 

It’s Harry that’s putting him off, even though he told him he doesn’t have any feelings. Maybe Louis knows he’s lying? Maybe he finally noticed how gone Harry is for him and he’s pulling away now because it makes him uncomfortable. Because of course it would. 

Harry’s spent the whole time they’ve known each other just stumbling behind him like a puppy, taking every touch and every glance and giving back twice as many, overexcited, feeling too much and wanting so much more. 

“Let me know how it goes.” He says as they walk out of the flat building and towards the bus stop. Louis’ meeting Heather at the nice sandwich place just off campus, just a little too far to skateboard to. 

“Obviously. Thanks for helping me get ready. See you at rehearsals?” 

And this is how Harry confirms something’s wrong, because Louis hesitates. He  _hesitates_ , then he blinks and tips forward to hug him. 

Harry watches him step up onto the bus and doesn’t watch it go. It’s the first lunch he’ll spend alone in what feels like forever. He decides right then and there that despite his feelings, he doesn’t want to make him uncomfortable. He doesn’t want Louis to feel like he has to hesitate, so he will do it himself. He’s gone this long ignoring how he feels about his best mate, surely he can take it a step forward and stop, like, holding his hand for no reason. 

Did Louis hesitate then? Was Harry imagining it when he lingered? Was Louis wishing he could pull away but hadn’t wanted to offend him? 

He wishes he’d known that the last time they held hands was the last time. He would have enjoyed it more. 

-

The plan may have to be put on hold, because they start blocking that night, and the play opens up with him and Louis clutched together on a beach, because of course it does. 

Louis is all smiley after his incredible amazing awesome date that probably went really fucking great, but Harry is weak as hell, and there’s no hesitation as he touches his hands to Louis’ chest, pressing them together at Liam’s directing. 

“You smell like strawberries.” Louis says, probably trying to break whatever weird ice is between them. Harry can’t help but smile, because Louis always can make him smile, no matter what. 

“New shampoo. You smell like sandwiches.” He wrinkles his nose like it’s bad, and Louis’ hands around his waist pinch him a bit. 

“Okay, and after Sandy, the lights cut to black, and you both move offstage and wait for your entrances.” 

They pull apart, and Harry pretends he doesn’t notice the way Louis’ jaw tightens as he turns away, and he wonders if maybe he’s pretending everything is normal. He is quite the actor, as Harry’s seen plenty of times before. Really, how would he know? 

He steps into the wings on the opposite side of the stage as the T-Birds and Pink Ladies step onto the stage, and for the first time, he genuinely regrets what happened at the party. 

He realises that he’d much prefer to have Louis as just his friend forever, instead of this. Whatever it is, he doesn’t like it. He doesn’t like that they’re lying to each other and he especially doesn’t like that Louis is pulling away from him. 

Harry can only hope that he can fix it, somehow. 

-

Step one of ‘fixing it’ is getting pissed and crying by himself in the commons of his dorm building at 2AM, apparently. 

“Harry?” 

He looks up, wiping his tears, finding it’s Niall, who doesn’t even live in this dorm. He lives in a flat down the street with some of his rugby friends. 

“Why’re you here?” He slurs, pouting when Niall sets his bag down and crouches in front of him, taking the bottle of nasty whiskey from him. 

“Amelia lives in this building. Been seeing her a bit more.”

“The girl playing Rizzo?” It’s almost funny, that Niall’s seeing his on-stage love interest, and Harry’s crying over his own. 

“Yeah, that’s the one. What’s wrong?” 

“Louis hates me and he’s pretending he doesn’t so my feelings don’t get hurt, but I know he’s pretending so I’m trying to pretend back but it’s hard when I’m in love with him.” Harry’s probably only half understandable with his alcohol-induced slurring, and Niall frowns, digging into his jeans for his phone. 

“He doesn’t hate you, mate. I’m sure he has a good reason for whatever he’s pretending about.” 

“You don’t seem very surprised about my love confession.” Harry frowns, reaching for the bottle but Niall stands up, dumping it into the sink next to them because he’s an arse. Or maybe he’s caring, Harry can’t remember which one it is. 

“Kinda common knowledge, dude,” he turns away as whatever call he’s making goes through, “hey, can you come to H’s dorm?..um, not really, no. He’s pissed and crying..sorry, were you sleeping?” Niall then steps out of the commons and into the hallway, and Harry’s too tired to attempt to eavesdrop, so he just folds his arms over his knees and continues to cry. 

He’s not even crying over Louis not wanting him anymore. He’s crying because this means their friendship is fucked if he can’t fix it. This means no more cuddles in the cafeteria booths when they’re cold. It means no more holding hands when they’re walking through the quad. It means no more sneaking into each other’s rooms every now and then if one of them has a nightmare or is feeling homesick. 

He hadn’t realised just how dependent he’d become on the guy. 

“You okay, love?” The last person he should see right now touches at his folded arms. Harry lifts his head and blinks through his tears. Louis looks like he might’ve just been woken up, wearing joggers and a hoodie, his hair sticking up, eyes puffy from sleep. 

“What did Niall say?” He asks instead of answering the question. The Irishman seemed to have left. Louis’ mouth twists like he’s confused or maybe worried. 

“He said you were trying to give yourself alcohol poisoning and that I needed to fix ‘our shit’.” He does the air quotes, raising an eyebrow. 

“What does that mean?”

“I was hoping you could tell me. C’mon, let’s get you to bed.” He stands up and offers his hands, and Harry lets himself be helped up, and he cries like an idiot the whole way up the flight of stairs to the second floor, and cries when Louis takes his key from his pocket and helps him into his room, setting him on the edge of his bed and fetching some water. 

“Déjà vu.” Harry mumbles as Louis sits next to him, and then he laughs, even though it’s not funny. Because this reminds him of the party. The one where he blew Louis and the guy came within a minute, because it started just like this. Him being taken care of while he’s off his tits drunk. 

“Cheeky. Have a drink and then tell me what’s wrong.” Louis sighs, so Harry does. He downs the whole glass, and when the boy takes it from him, he lies back on the bed, legs hanging off the edge. It’s mostly for his own benefit, so he doesn’t have to see Louis’ reaction to what he’s about to say. 

He already knows he’s going to regret it tomorrow, but his judgement might be a little clouded right now. 

“I fucked up our friendship and you’re pretending I didn’t but I know you’re pulling away so I thought I’d do it first so you wouldn’t have to but I can’t because all I want to do is touch you but you don’t want me to touch you so now I’m crying and getting drunk so I don’t have to think about it, except now I’m doing nothing  _but_ think about it and wishing I’d known you’d hate me after the party because then I’d have kissed you while I could.” He sighs with his confession, out of breath and hoping it was at least a little coherent. 

“I wish we could forget everything and just go back. I’m not..I’m not pretending. I don’t hate you, and I don’t regret what happened at that party.”

“Please don’t say that—“

“It’s true, Harry. I don’t regret it, okay? You’re my favourite person in the world. What happened at the party is just..something we did. It’s like how we hold hands sometimes, it doesn’t change us. The only reason I’m pulling away is because I realised you, um, feel more for me than I expected, and I didn’t want you to get the wrong idea after I let the party thing happen.” 

“I’m not gonna fuckin’ jump your bones cause we held hands. Been hiding m’ feelings for this long.” Harry might be crying again, but it’s okay, because hearing Louis actually say the reason he pulled away is because of the feelings hurts a lot. Probably would hurt a lot more if everything wasn’t spinning around him. 

“I  _know_ , ugh. It doesn’t make the uncomfortable or anything. I don’t care if you want to kiss me.”

“You just care if I try to.” Harry guesses, and Louis’ silence is enough answer. He always knew he’d be rejected one day when he couldn’t hide it anymore, but for it to actually happen, it’s like a hole being ripped through his chest. He might never stop crying. 

“I mean..no.” 

Harry wipes at his eyes and sits up onto his elbows, levelling him with a look of disbelief.

“That’s not funny.”

“I’m not making a joke. If you want to kiss me, you can. In fact, we’re going to have to kiss for the musical. I’m not..I hope you realise that I’m not going anywhere. You dont have to stop holding my hand. We can cuddle same as we always have. I don’t want you to pull away. I never want that. It doesn’t have to mean anything, I just thought it might be easier for you if we didn’t touch as much. Easier to like, get over me or whatever.” Louis takes a breath, looking abruptly years younger than he is. Harry sits up, blinking as the room spins a bit, and sets a hand on Louis’ thigh, watching the boy’s tongue dart out to wet his lips like he’s not just fucking around. Is he? 

“So you’d let me kiss you? Right now?” 

“If you want to.” Louis’ voice wavers. 

“Aren’t you straight or whatever?” 

“Well, I mean, I’d prefer to marry a girl, but I’m not blind, H. Surely you know what you did to me at that party, you were watching me the whole time.” 

“You coming within a minute doesn’t mean you’re attracted to me. I’m just good at sucking cock.” 

Louis laughs, eyes crinkling, his thin fingers curling around Harry’s wrist, still resting on his thigh. 

“You’re a lot more confident when you’re drunk.” 

“You make terrible decisions when I’m drunk.” Harry replies, closing his eyes so he doesn’t have to see Louis’ bright eyes or his inviting lips, but it doesn’t stop the feeling of his fingers, trailing up from his wrist, tickling at his arm. He might be tracing over his tattoos, and it makes his heart skip. 

“Is it terrible?”

“Yeah, because if I kiss you I’ll never get over you. Now I have permission so the only thing stopping me is myself.”

“S’ not true. I’m probably going to start dating Heather soon, so it’s sort of a one time offer.” 

“Almost sounds like you want me to.” Harry opens his eyes, immediately regretting it when he’s met with Louis’ pleading eyes and what looks like a blush settling high on his pretty cheekbones. 

“You barely gave me one at the party. It feels unfinished. Think of it as, like, makeup for all the time we’re not going to be able to hang out soon.” The logic is flawed, but Harry scoots closer anyway, hand sliding up Louis’ thigh and circling his waist, pulling their chests together in one swift movement. Maybe the alcohol does make him more confident, whatever. 

Louis’ hands touch to his chest, one of them grazing his jaw, eyes the nicest blue he’s ever seen. Always have been his favourite eyes. God, he’s so fucked. 

“Just one, then.” He murmurs, leaning in until Louis’ eyes slipped closed, breath catching. He wants it. Harry doesn’t need to be sober to know when someone wants to kiss him. 

Maybe Louis is having feeling problems of his own. Maybe he needs convinced. Maybe he’s doing this Heather thing to make Harry make a move. Maybe Harry’s pissed and hopeful thinking too much. 

Louis must get impatient, because he makes a noise and closes the minuscule space between them, lips pressing to his. The kiss is closed-mouthed and sweet for about five seconds, before the boy clutches Harry’s hair and opens his mouth invitingly, and he’s definitely not one to refuse. 

Tongue slipping into his best mate’s mouth, he presses forward until Louis lies back over the bed, snogging him with probably too-desperate sounds. The boy doesn’t pull away, legs wrapping around him, clutching him closer even though they’re touching all over already. 

When his hand fists in Harry’s shirt like he might pull it off of him, Harry pulls away, pressing their foreheads together and gasping emotionally. 

“F-fuck, I’m never getting over you.” He whispers, and it takes everything in him not to kiss him again when he leans back to see Louis’ red lips and lidded eyes. 

“I don’t want you to..but it’s only because I don’t want you to leave. I know that’s selfish, I’m sorry.” Louis frowns deeply and touches Harry’s cheek softly where his dimples would pop. 

“If you don’t get with Heather, I can kiss you all the time, then I’ll be in love with you forever.” He says, lowering his face and pressing a kiss to Louis’ neck. The love bite he’d made is nearly completely gone, so he latches his mouth there and works the blood to the surface again. It must be sore, and maybe that’s why Louis moans, breathy and so fucking beautiful, fingernails biting into his shoulders. 

“D-don’t say you’re in love with me.”

“It’s true—“

“Harry, please, it’s not fair to you, you can’t..” his voice cracks, and Harry lifts from his neck to see his eyes filling with tears. 

“You make me so happy. Happier than anyone ever, I think. I don’t care if you date someone else, s’ long as I can still cuddle you when I’m homesick.” 

“It’s not healthy, any of this. It’s going to fuck us both. I don’t let you go now, and what happens in ten years when I’m getting married?” 

“I’ll be your best man, hopefully.” Harry mumbles, though he’s thinking of something else. Himself in a wedding dress, actually, in his inebriated mind. He’s wondering if he’d want classic white or a creme when Louis actually starts to cry. 

“What’s wrong, Lou? Please don’t cry.” He lowers himself so he’s laying on him like a weighted blanket, wrapping around him so it’s probably hard to breathe. Louis clutches the back of his neck and his shirt with gasping breaths. 

“None of this is normal. You aren’t supposed to be fine with this, you’re supposed to ask me to choose or something. Or tell me to leave.” 

“As long as you’re here I don’t care.”

“So it won’t bother you in the slightest if I spend everyday with a girl? Kissing her and spending nights with her and holding her hand?” 

Harry swallows thickly, stomach turning just at the mention of it. He presses kisses to Louis’ jaw, distracting himself from the images that were just put in his mind. 

“Don’t leave this. Do what you want with Heather, don’t leave me.” 

“You say that like we’re dating.” Louis huffs a chuckle, but it’s shaky at best. 

“Don’t break up with me, baby, please.” He mumbles, feeling the way Louis tenses under him, fingers tightening in his hair. 

“Harry..” it sounds like a warning. 

“Can I kiss you again? Until you ask her out? Wanna kiss you all the time, baby.” 

“Y-yeah.” Louis’ voice is a near whisper, and Harry grins, lifting his head to kiss him again, and this time it’s desperate. Biting. Almost angry. 

“You can’t call me that anymore.” The boy says the second their lips part. Harry doesn’t need to glance down to know what the pet name does to him. He can feel it against his leg. 

“Mmm, remind me when I’m not pissed, baby.” He says, then rolls over so he’s not on him anymore. Louis sighs heavily, reaching down and clearly adjusting himself. 

“This is fucked. It’s almost 3. I was just supposed to get you to bed.” 

“Sorry..you have that 8AM class, right?” 

“I’ll skip and stay here if you promise not to freak out when you’re sober tomorrow.” 

“Y’mean when I wake up and realise I told you I love you and that you rejected me but not really at the same time?” He cuddles up to Louis, pulling him in close, eyes slipping closed. The boy huffs a sad laugh, petting at his hair. It feels really nice. 

“Yeah, that.” 

“Only if you promise we’ll still be kind of normal. No more pulling away or awkward shit.”

“Only if you promise to keep bringing me sweets from the bakery.”

“Only if you promise to keep spending lunch with me at least a few times a week.”

“Only if you promise to try and find a nice boy to date who isn’t me.”

They go on like that until they’re just mumbling incoherently about random stupid promises that make no sense, and that’s how they fall asleep, smiles on their faces and limbs tangled. 

They’ll be okay, Harry decides. So maybe everything’s changed, but sort of nothing has changed at the same time. They’re still them. He’s still in love with Louis and Louis is still not in love with him. 

He will be okay. Mostly. 

-

True to his word, they don’t really change too much. Their lunches together are cut in half as Louis starts to take Heather out more. He sweetly doesn’t talk about her too much unless Harry asks, but he overhears him telling Liam about her. About how she makes him laugh and how he might ask her to be his girlfriend. 

It’s all very  _lovely_ , really, he likes to see Louis happy. He does. It’s just..now that he’s kissed him, the urge to do it again is just so much worse. All the time. 

It doesn’t help that they get through block week and work out many close together scenes. How Harry managed to land Sandy is just the universe fucking with him, he’s sure. 

He doesn’t cry about it again until a week later, when he’s walking between his classes and sees Louis and Heather across the street. They’re sharing a sweet kiss, and she’s wearing the dark green jumper that Harry snuck back into Louis’ laundry weeks ago, and it’s just. It’s just polyester. Just a jumper. Just everything Harry’s always wanted, sort of. Just sort of everything he’d hoped wouldn’t affect him. 

He walks in a daze to the English building, but he passes up his class and heads right into the toilet, where he breaks down a bit. And by a bit, there might be snot and a little hyperventilating. 

When he gets to rehearsals after his last class, he and Louis sit in the audience while Rizzo’s solo is blocked, and Louis absentmindedly runs his thumb over Harry’s knuckles while he studies his lines, so it might be okay. 

He knows Louis was right. It’s not healthy. The person making him cry is the same person who makes him feel better afterwards, even without realising it, but it’s better than nothing. It’s better than losing Louis completely. 

Probably. 

‘ _why would you ever kiss me? i’m not even half as pretty, you gave her your sweater, it’s just polyester, but you like her better, i wish i were heather~_ ’

-L-

Just when he thinks things have gone back to relatively normal, he’s back to square one. 

They get to rehearsal, and are told that they’re working on Hopelessly Devoted to You. Louis’ sat in the third row while it’s blocked, half paying attention as he mouths his own songs, still learning the lyrics. 

Then the singing starts. 

“Guess mine is not the first heart broken, my eyes are not the first to cry..” Harry sings it acapella, only instructed by their music director Ben waving his hand to the tempo. They’re practicing the scene as a whole, with blocking and singing. 

Louis can only watch helplessly, heart racing. Harry’s voice is something else. He knows it is, ever since the first time he heard him sing some Elton John song to himself with headphones on days after they’d met. 

It’s the kind of voice that could sell out stadiums. The kind of voice that’s unforgettable. The kind that seeps right into Louis’ soul and makes him completely forget why they shouldn’t be together. 

“I know I’m just a fool who’s willing, to sit around and wait for you,” Harry’s eyes flicker to him, and he steps across the stage, holding onto the unpainted and half finished column meant to be the outside of Sandy’s house, “but baby can’t you see, there’s nothing else for me to do? I’m hopelessly devoted to you.” 

Louis swallows thickly and shuts his script, setting it onto the arm rest, and leaves the theatre immediately. He doesn’t stop until he’s in the male’s changing rooms where nobody else is. They aren’t using the rooms yet, as they’re met for costume changes during performances. 

He knows Beauty School Dropout is next, and neither of them are needed. It only takes Harry five minutes to find him. 

“Are you okay? You seemed stressed—“ Louis yanks him into the room and shuts the door, presses Harry against it and kisses his stupid hot mouth quiet. 

The boy makes a noise, hands grasping Louis’ waist and pulling him closer, kissing back just as enthusiastically. They haven’t done anything with both of them sober yet, so it should be weird. It should feel different, but it doesn’t. It’s just mind-numbingly good. It’s just everything that’s missing when he kisses Heather. 

He pulls away and gasps against his lips, heart slamming in his chest. Harry seems equally as affected, holding him tightly. 

“What, Lou—“

“Don’t sing love songs at me.”

“If this is how you’re going to react then I’m definitely going to.” Harry says darkly, fingers slipping dangerously close to his bum. 

Louis pulls away completely, nails digging into his palms. 

“ _That_ was the last one. Actually this time.” 

“Okay, baby.” Harry says, teeth sunk in his lip as if that conceals his shit-eating grin even a little bit. Louis huffs and pulls him away from the door, storming out and back to the theatre. 

The rest of rehearsals goes by in a daze, and he doesn’t get a single new line memorised. 

-

Louis’ never been a particularly violent person. He took self defence classes as a teenager after a few kids pushed him around during footie practice in secondary, but he never really used the classes, because they got bored of him easily, moving on to a smaller kid within weeks. 

He’s never gotten into a serious fist fight, and never considered it an option the few times he has gotten into arguments. There’s been shit talkers before, people pushing his buttons, but he always was able to turn the other way. Take the higher road. It might be something to do with being the eldest, or maybe he just doesn’t see the point when he can talk his way out of situations instead. 

Somehow, it’s unsurprising that Harry is at the heart of his first actual fight. 

He’s walking instead of skating today, because it’s a few days after the first snow fell, so the walkways are a bit icy. Wearing a hoodie that’s covering most of his face from the cold wind, he’s probably mostly unrecognisable. 

Halfway across the quad, two guys merge in behind him in the traffic of walkers. He isn’t listening to their chatter, until a name causes his ears to perk right up. 

“Yeah, she’s playing a teacher or something. She says the main bird is being played by Harry Styles.” 

“Like drag?” 

“Nah, like just Grease except it’s gay.” 

Louis would quicken his pace to escape the unintended eavesdropping, but there’s people scattered all over the walkways, blocking in front of him. He stuffs his hands in the front pocket of the hoodie and tries to ignore it. 

“That’s fucked, but I’m not surprised. You know he hit on me two years ago? Offered his arse to me like, really desperately. Said he’d do anything. Turned him down, obviously. I think he cried.” 

Louis knows it’s not true, because Harry’s hadn’t even started going to this uni two years ago. He grits his teeth and looks up to see the theatre is getting closer. He can’t wait to get the fuck away from these arseholes. 

“Of course he did. Those types will get it anywhere. I heard he’s fucking half of the rugby team, even though they’re straight. You know he got with that Payne dude for that part? Fucking poofs will do anything for their five seconds of stage time, should I hit him up? Could ask him out and when he shows up—“ 

Louis whirls around on his heel, halting completely. The two guys nearly run right into him, but they stop at the last second. 

Louis really isn’t one to start anything. Normally, he would walk away. He would turn his chin and recognise that idiots won’t be less idiots with a bruise or two, but the rage that bubbles up in him is overwhelming. He yanks his hood from his head so they can see who he is, fists so tight his nails might be drawing blood. 

“Please continue, I’d love to hear what you plan to do.” He seethes, stepping right up into the guy’s space, not touching him, but close enough that it wouldn’t take much effort. People stepping around them stop and pull out phones, probably sensing an altercation, but Louis barely notices. He’s seeing red. He’s seeing nothing but red, wound up so tight he might actually go airborne. 

The second dude backs away with an apology, arms up in surrender, but the first guy raises an eyebrow, taking that step closer like it’s a challenge. 

“Oh, right. You’re his guard dog now, forgot about that. Is that a threat?” 

“Do I need to spell it out? Come within 50 metres of my boy and I’ll knock each of those coke-rot teeth out of your mouth.” Louis threatens. 

“Your boy, huh? Should’ve known you were fucking him. All you drama faggots are the same.” The guy shoves his sleeves up his arms to prepare for the fight that’s probably imminent. Louis gives him a once-over. He doesn’t know the dude, but he’s on the skinnier side. He’s taller by a good amount, and will pack a punch, but his hands are shaking when he raises them up like he’s boxing or something. Inexperienced. He’s unbraced too, will probably take a step before he punches. Louis snarls and leans in closer, eyes meeting his. 

“At least I can take pride in that. I know a closet case when I see one. When are you going to tell daddy you like it up the arse?” It’s a guess, but it must hit a soft spot, because the colour leaves the guy’s face, and his arm pulls back. He takes a step. It’s easy to block because he’s a shit fighter. Louis uses to his advantage, winding his right arm back while the guy stumbles a bit with the miscalculation. 

Louis’ returning clock doesn’t miss. 

-

He’s sat on a loud paper-covered bed in the student health centre with an ice pack on his cheek when a nurse opens the door and lets in a very frazzled looking Harry. 

The boy steps up to the bed between his legs and touches his blood stained shirt, other hand pulling the ice pack away to see the cut on his cheek and the huge bruise that’s forming around it. 

“What the  _fuck_ happened.” Harry says very slowly, and he looks absolutely cross, eyes dark and frown deep set. 

“Jus’ some shit talk.” 

“Yeah? Is your mouth on your hands?” Harry takes the ice pack and tosses it, grabs both of his hands. Louis winces at the movement. His knuckles are the worst he got out with. Probably because he fucking killed that fight. They’re bloodied and bruised, looking like he dipped his hands in acid or something. The cut on his cheek and his lip aren’t as bad, only really existing because the arsehole was wearing a ring. There’s bruises on his torso somewhere, too. 

He was right, the guy could pack a punch, but he didn’t know what the hell he was doing. He broke his hand punching Louis, holding his thumb incorrectly like an idiot. 

“It doesn’t even matter, he was talking shit and I lost my temper.” 

“And what did he say?”

“Does it matter? It’s finished.” Louis might still be a little pissed off, the anger zipping through him like electricity every-time he remembers what was said. As if Harry’s something they can have. As if he’s just something to use. 

“I saw the video. I know it was about me.”

“Then you know why I’m not going to repeat what he said.” 

“I don’t need you to getting into fights because of me. I didn’t take you for a fucking hardhead.” Harry’s actually angry. Louis’ jaw tightens. He throws up his hands. 

“Well  _sorry_ , Harry! I didn’t get in the fight to, like, fucking, prove a point or something?! I couldn’t control myself, I couldn’t let it slide. Not this.” He motions wildly between them, trying to get Harry to understand that he can take a million names thrown at his back, but the second it’s about Harry, his fists tighten and his blood boils. 

“There’s always going to be people talking about me, Louis, are you going to beat up all of them? What are you going to do when you get with someone too inexperienced and he decides to slam your head in some concrete and give you a little brain damage? Did you even think to move to the grass? The walkway was icy! How do you not see what could’ve happened?! And then what was it all for? Then you’re fucking comatose or paralysed and I’ll be stuck changing your diaper for the rest of our lives!” 

Louis blinks at the speech, very suddenly realising that Harry isn’t as much angry as he is  _worried_. Face softening, he reaches for him, pulling him until he’s pressed up against the edge of the bed, then he hooks his ankles around the boy’s hips. 

“You’d spend forever change my diapers if I got paralysed?” He asks, laughing sheepishly. Harry’s cheeks burn red, but he rests his hands on Louis’ thighs, so he might be calming. 

“The fuck else am I going to do? I’m kind of in love with you, if you don’t remember.” 

It makes his heart skip just like it did the first time he heard that. 

“I’m sorry, H. I didn’t think to move to the grass. I couldn’t think about much of anything, actually. I’ve never been so angry in me life. I don’t even remember half of the fight itself.” 

“Too busy defending my honour?” Harry asks sassily, frowning but letting Louis tuck his curls back over his head. He’s all smooth and unblemished under Louis’ fucked up knuckles, and it’s kind of hot for some reason. 

“Mhmm, if I had guns, I’d have challenged him to a duel instead, I swear.” 

Harry giggles, finally, and then he tips forward and kisses him. 

It’s a bit unexpected, but Louis happily accepts the kiss, paper crinkling under him as Harry presses in close. The cut on his lip hurts with it, but it just gets him off more. 

Harry pulls back and licks his lips. There’s a touch of blood on them. He must’ve coaxed it out of his lip, and it makes Louis just want to never stop snogging for some reason. 

“Metallic.” Harry murmurs, eyes dilated. 

“What was that for? Thought you were cross?” 

“Oh, I am. Plenty. But..it’s also really hot. Really, uh, Danny Zuko. A leather jacket would really complete this picture.” 

“Does Danny even fight anyone in the show?” 

“Dunno, but the aesthetic fits. You said..I mean, I’m sure you were just saying whatever you could, but in the video you said you were proud when he accused you of sleeping with me.” 

“And?”

“Well are you?” Harry asks, voice small, chest heaving with his inhale. 

“We haven’t actually slept together, remember? How pissed  _were_ you?” 

Harry pinches his side, then kisses him again, lips soft and his sigh of want even softer. 

“You know what I mean,” he mumbles between kisses, “are you okay with the fact that people think I’m yours? Because they do. Everyone thinks we’re together.” 

It’s a relief to know that Harry knows about the rumours. He didn’t want to be the one to tell him. Didn’t want the boy to think he hated it or something. 

“They can think what they want.” 

“What about how you called me your boy?” Harry’s hands on his hips pull him closer, paper crinkling under them. 

“Do you not want me to?”

“I’m just confused, I guess. You don’t want me but you call me yours?” 

Louis’ chest swirls with his own confusion, because he doesn’t really have a logical explanation. He wants to call Harry’s his. He wants Harry to be his. He just doesn’t want to actually date the kid. What happens if it ends badly? Then they’re exes with bad blood and awkward ‘let’s just be friends’ talks, and he couldn’t let that happen. Can’t let their relationship go weird. It’s too risky to give in to him. Too risky to ask Harry to be his. Even though he wants to. Really wants to. 

Instead of trying to explain that complicated mess, he just pulls him closer, arms wrapping around his neck as they kiss. His lip is bleeding, but it’s turned numb, so it’s mostly fine. 

“Lou..aren’t you dating Heather?” Harry asks against his lips, breathing coming out in breathless bursts. 

“Haven’t officially asked her yet. I was thinking I would tomorrow.” 

“So today is the last day I can kiss you?” 

Louis’ fingers tighten in those curls he loves, desperate not to let him go anywhere, as if the boy is even close to thinking about pulling away. 

“Stay at mine tonight. Let’s make the most of it.” 

Harry pulls away a few millimetres to giggle, fingers grazing up the small of his back. 

“You make me sound like an escort.”

“Sorry.” Louis grins, and then his whole front is cold as Harry pulls away from him completely. He’s about to complain, when the doctor finally steps into the room. Harry leans against the wall and smirks at him, and Louis rolls his eyes, subtly adjusting himself in his jeans, because of course his best mate’s left him all hot and bothered. 

The usual. 

-

“Weed makes me tired.” Harry complains when Louis digs through the box in his closet and takes out the supplies. 

“Are you turning it down?” Louis asks, flicking on some shit radio music and plopping on the couch. Harry follows, his long legs splaying out over the cushion next to him. Louis pulls the tea table closer to them, handing the grinder to Harry while he rolls the first joint. 

“Nah, just letting you know.” The boy sighs, working at grinding. Louis licks the joint closed, eyes on Harry’s hands. He has some lovely hands, long fingers, the cross inked near his thumb, the rings decorating them. His pale pink nail polish is nearly fully chipped away. 

“As if either of us smoke with anyone else. You should wear black next.” He sticks the joint on his ear and stands up, jogging to his room and shoving all of his random shit aside and finding the bottle of nail varnish Harry lost here ages ago. 

“Oh that’s what you’re saying.” The boy says when he returns. He’s rolling a second joint just like Louis taught him. His fingers are flexing as he rolls it, gentle and strong. 

Louis takes a breath and wonders why he’s so fucking visually sensitive today. Every little movement Harry makes is making his stomach heat with want. Maybe because they will have to stop tomorrow. Stop whatever they’re calling it. Friends with sort of benefits? Friends who exchanged one blowie and some kisses? 

“Let’s paint your nails later.” Louis cranks the music louder, then promptly climbs into Harry’s lap, lighter in one hand, the other picking the joint from his ear. 

Harry sets his own on the table next to them, eyes wide as he looks down at their laps, at Louis’ thighs framing his hips. 

“Thinking about me riding you?” Louis asks boldly as he lights the joint. He expects Harry to get embarrassed or maybe turn it into a joke, but the boy just runs his big fucking hands up his thighs and watches his mouth as he takes the first drag. 

“Yeah, actually.” He says, voice raspy. Louis hands him the joint, exhaling towards the ceiling. Harry’s watching him very intensely. 

They trade back and forth until the roll is half finished, then Louis finally decides to do something. He takes a drag, and leans in to shotgun it. Harry accepts this easily, his mouth tasting really fucking sweet and not just because of the high. He’s just always sweet. 

They share a kiss, then Louis leans back and hands the joint to him. 

Harry’s fingers are even longer somehow as he inhales, pinching. He wonders if the boy would be opposed to finger tattoos. Maybe something like Louis’ ‘28’. 

“Harry..” he sets a hand on his chest, the drug settling into his gut and heightening his senses. 

“Yeah?” 

“No offence, but can you put some of those fingers in me?” 

Harry, mid-drag, coughs his way through it, then sets the joint in the ashtray next to them, eyes bewildered when they meet his. 

“W-what?”

Louis bites his lip and reaches under the cushion next to them, fumbling for the packet of lube that he put there for Liam to find and complain about a while back. Turns out the guy doesn’t clean under the cushions as often as he’d expected, but he’s thankful for that now. 

“Do you want to?” 

“Fucking, do you even need to ask? What the fuck—“ Harry inhales sharply and leans up to kiss him, taking the lube from him. Louis stands up and shamelessly shoves his jeans and his pants down, climbing back in the boy’s lap before he can do something weird like frog stare at him. 

Then he’s just bare-arsed on Harry’s lap, his dick hidden under the too-big jumper. He wants to kiss him so he doesn’t get embarrassed, but Harry’s looking down at his bare legs, running those hands up his thighs. 

“Get on wit’ it, curly, before I forget why I’m letting you anywhere near me arse.” He quips, sassing to cover up just how fucking riled up he is, because it’s kind of embarrassing. He’s already desperate for it without having been touched. Just from watching Harry’s freakishly attractive hands roll a joint. What the fuck. 

Harry does get on with it, so it’s probably fine. Louis doesn’t want to tell him that he’s never done this, so he doesn’t. He doesn’t say anything when a wet finger touches to his arsehole, then slides in easily with how slicked up it is. He’s thought about doing it, on multiple occasions in the last few months especially, but could never get the courage to actually try it out. 

Having Harry do it for him is a rather nice trade-off. He doesn’t have to do it himself, and the boy seems dazed out with how much he’s enjoying it, big green eyes watching him like he’s hungry. 

“S’ tight.” Harry murmurs, barely audible over the blasting music from the speaker against the wall. He adds a second finger, and Louis tips his head forward, resting his forehead on Harry’s shoulder. He doesn’t want the nerves to show on his face, because then Harry might back out. It doesn’t hurt or anything, it’s just a strange stretching sensation, and something else that just feels nice. Maybe it’s just because it’s him. Familiar. 

He can’t remember when it changed. When he stopped thinking of Harry as his friend and started thinking of him as his. He can’t pinpoint exactly when it happened. 

Can’t pinpoint much of anything when Harry curls his two fingers and presses in as deep as he can, and brushes against his prostate. 

Louis can’t control the moan that tumbles out of his lips, nor the way his hands fist in Harry’s shirt. 

Now that he’s hit it, Harry starts jabbing that spot inside of him over and over, adding in a third finger somewhere along the way, and Louis’ noises increase until he’s competing with the loud music. He can’t believe he never tried this before, suddenly. 

“F-fuck, it’s so..” he chokes off and lifts his head from Harry’s shoulder when he gets too hot, rolling his hips back onto the boy’s fingers, desperate for it, chin tipping up to the ceiling with how insanely good it feels. 

“Beautiful, Lou. You’re so beautiful.” Harry says, leaning in and presses his lips to his throat. Louis keens, hands twitching to touch his cock but he refrains. He sort of likes that he’s being taken care of. That Harry’s in control of what he’s receiving or not receiving. 

With the position, it’s almost like he actually is riding the boy. He wonders if it would feel this good. If it would feel even better. He’s seen Harry’s dick before since the guy almost exclusively lives in the nude. He can’t stop thinking about it, then. About Harry fucking him, taking his ‘gay virginity’ or whatever. 

“P-please, ‘arry..” Louis moans, nails digging into Harry’s shoulders. The boy leans away from his probably terribly marked neck to meet his eyes again. 

“What is it, baby?” He asks, and the pet name sends Louis barrelling towards orgasm territory quicker than he’d expected. 

“Want, I want—“ he chokes off when he grinds down onto Harry’s fingers and feels him, suddenly. He looks down between them, seeing Harry’s cock trapped in his jeans, the outline of it terribly clear with how hard it is. Louis finds himself not hesitating even a little when he reaches down and palms him over the layers. The fingers inside of him stutter, Harry’s eyes fluttering as he’s touched. 

“Wassit, Lou?” Harry slurs. Whether it’s the high or the lust or maybe both, neither of them find it easy to stay coherent. Louis is close, but he wants it more than anything. Wants Harry inside of him, taking whatever he wants. Having him in a way nobody else has or probably ever will. 

“Want it.” He begs, petting over Harry’s hard-on so he knows what he’s saying. 

“Fuck, stop touching it.” Harry near growls, and it’s probably embarrassing how quickly Louis obeys, hands grasping Harry’s shoulders again, mouth slacking as the boy changes the pace of his fingers. Then, instead of pumping them, he keeps them stuffed deep inside, and just rubs his prostate in steady circles, so then the waves of pleasure are a constant. Like a tsunami. 

Louis’ moans go silent as the pleasure brings him past the point of awareness, and he’d probably fall the fuck over if Harry didn’t pull him in, nose nuzzling up his neck and to his ear. 

“Asking me to fuck you the day before we break up?” He asks roughly like he’s angry. It’s dastardly hot. Louis wants to say they technically aren’t dating so they can’t break up, but finds himself unable to answer, toes curling. It’s almost overstimulating, the way he’s doing it, fingers rubbing quick circles against his prostate, milking him, not letting up for even a second. It almost hurts, but in probably the best way he’s ever felt. 

“It’d be so easy, you’re so prepped for it, I could just slip in now if you’d like, help you come. You need to come, baby?” 

Louis’ head tips forward onto the boy’s shoulder as he does just that, mouth open, strangled gasps escaping his throat as Harry continues to rub him through it. He sees white spots in his vision with how strong it is, shooting onto his stomach, hidden under his jumper still. And he’d thought his orgasm when Harry’d blown him was the strongest he’s ever had. 

Afterwards, he feels fuzzy, shaking through the aftershocks and only half aware of Harry cleaning him up and taking his fingers away. Louis isn’t very helpful, cuddled up to the boy’s neck, hands folded between them like a child. 

“Well, that was a pleasant surprise. We’re very..compatible.” Harry finally says something, hand running up and down his back, the other resting on his bare thigh. 

“What’ya mean?” Louis mumbles, breath shaky as he realises Harry came as well, right into his pants. He wonders when the guy had time to touch himself and come with his other hand moving so steadily. He’s a good multitasker, apparently. Maybe it’s a juggler thing, the fucker. 

“I get off on taking care of you, and you like being taken care of.” 

Louis reaches up and pinches him, but is otherwise too fuzzy to really sass about that statement. Whatever, it’s just the two of them, and he’d rather Harry not stop his sweet petting he’s doing. 

“If you ask..I can give you what you want,” Harry starts to say in his ear, voice an emotional rasp, “I can give you the cheesy dates. The holding hands during rehearsals, sharing a kiss before having a cuddle every night. I can take care of you in any way you’d like.”

“H-Harry—“ Louis squeezes his eyes closed, burying his face further into the boy’s neck, cheeks just absolutely burning. 

“And you can take care of me all the same. Shit talk anyone who has anything to say about it, walk me to the bus stop every day, touch me in any way you’d like and whenever you’d like.” 

Louis sucks his lip into his mouth as these possibilities seep into his soul. He wants it so bad that he doesn’t even notice his lip is bleeding again. 

“What else?” He asks in a near whisper, hand drifting over Harry’s chest and settling over his heart. It’s pace is quite increased, but Louis would be lying if he said he wasn’t experiencing the same thing. 

“I’ll give you everything. I’ll make you feel so good any chance I get. You’ll spend all day pulling pranks and throwing jabs and getting on my fucking nerves, then when we get home I’ll give you my mouth, my fingers, anything you want until you’re begging for it. Until you get so fucked out you’re embarrassed.” 

“M’not embarrassed.” Louis nips at his neck for being cheeky, but refused to lift his head and meet his eyes, because he’s right. He’s right about all of it. Louis’ such a loud and pushy guy all day, so he has no idea how Harry figured him out like this. He wonders if it showed or something. If maybe he’d grabbed Louis’ wrist and noticed it made him still, or maybe if he’d hugged him and noticed the way Louis lets himself be held a bit. 

Of course, he’d never admit it out loud. 

“Do you want that, Lou? Do you want to be mine?” Harry’s hand slips under his jumper, grazing over his spine, making Louis shiver. 

“Mmhm.” He replies, burying his knees closer to the back of the couch to that they’re touching in every possible place. It’s so comfortable he might just fall asleep. 

“So don’t ask her out tomorrow. Be mine.” 

“Can’t, ‘arry.” He whines. 

“Why not?” 

“If we don’t work out then I won’t have you at all.” The music playing from the speakers against the wall switches to a nice love ballad, because of fucking course it does. 

“You seriously think I’ll let either of us fuck off if we break up? You’re like, m’ soulmate or something, if we break up then whatever, we’ll go back to just friends.” 

“I don’t think it’s that easy.” Louis sighs, then makes a noise of surprise when Harry suddenly moves, lifting them both and lying Louis down on the couch, holding himself up above him. When their eyes finally meet again, he looks almost angry. 

“It’s always been easy. We’ve gone from barely touching each other to barely touching anything else over the last year with almost zero awkwardness. I mean, honestly, before you started freaking out about feelings, did that blowjob at the party  _really_ feel like a huge step for us?” 

It’s a lot harder to have this conversation when he’s looking right at him so intensely. Louis flushes and doesn’t meet his eyes, fiddling with the cross that hangs from the pretty chain between them instead. 

“We’ll always be us, whether or not we’re fucking, or together, or just friends. Just..give it a chance.” Harry’s voice is hoarse, and he leans in to kiss him. Louis lets him, fluttering in his stomach, lip sore but not enough to make him want to stop. Besides, Harry kisses him very softly, almost too softly. 

“How do you know it’ll work?” 

“How do you know it  _won’t_?” The boy replies immediately, his sinful lips grazing over his jaw, pressing light kisses over the cut there, then the one on his cheek, then back to the sore one on his lip. 

“I asked first.” Louis mumbles, a bit petulant. Harry chuckles, pulling away to smile goofily. 

“I love you.” He says, eyes burning holes into his. Louis wriggles under him with the intensity of it, heart pounding. 

“That’s not an answer.”

“Except it is. I’ve been in love with you for like, the whole time we’ve known each other, I just know it’ll work. We’re meant to be together. Even if it isn’t tomorrow, you’ll come around once you realise nobody else can make you come twice in a row.” 

Louis lifts his hand up and clutches the couch pillow under his head, reaching down with his other hand to wrap a hand around himself with a sigh of relief. He didn’t know if Harry’d noticed or not, and he’s gotten a bit desperate after these few minutes of intense staring and kissing. 

“You haven’t either.” He mutters, hissing when Harry bumps his hand away and replaces it with his own. He’s a bit sensitive, especially after how strong he came a few minutes ago. 

“I fully intend to, baby.” Harry says darkly, head ducking down, shoving Louis’ jumper up so he’s all exposed and shit, lips latching onto his nipple as if he’s some girl who gets off on that. 

He might be some girl who gets off on that. 

“Fuck.” Louis whimpers, bucking up into Harry’s hand. He’s going all slow, pulling him off very precisely to the point that it hurts a little, rolling the buds of his nipples with his tongue while he talks. 

“I’ll wait forever, Lou. Whatever you choose tomorrow, I’ll wait for you. A million years, probably. There’s nobody else f’ me. I can’t—“

“ _God_ , H, I want it all, I want everything too.” Louis keens, fighting to keep his eyes open as Harry’s hand works him over just the way he likes it. He feels drunk, almost. Drunk on Harry. Maybe it’s the high? 

“I know, baby. I know you want it too. You close? Gonna beg for my cock again?” Harry’s mouth is fucking filthy, and Louis would probably be embarrassed or maybe sassy if he wasn’t so turned on, the heat of it sizzling up his spine and down to his toes. 

“Y-yeah.” He moans in a slur. 

“Gonna give it to you as soon as you’re mine. Fuck you so good you’ll be ruined for anyone else. Until you’re crying, probably. Until you forget your own name.” He bites into Louis’ collarbone, and it just sort of does it for him. He comes a second time, gasping desperately for air, shuddering with the shocks of it so soon after his first. 

“Beautiful. She can’t give you that, can she?” 

“No.” Louis sighs, eyes closed and fingers twitching. He feels dazed out in a way that feel permanent, thighs still shaking as he comes down from the orgasm. 

“No,” Harry agrees, it sounds like he’s smiling which should probably be annoying, “I’m gonna go shower. Care to join?” 

Louis does join, and he’s all fucking clingy, giggling under the spray of the water while Harry fusses over the bruises littering his torso. Afterwards, they crawl into Louis’ bed and snog lazily until midnight, and then they fall asleep mid-debate about whether or not avocados should be illegal. 

Louis sort of wants to fall asleep tangled together for the rest of his life, but he blames that thought on the high. 

-H-

‘ _why would you ever kiss me? i’m not even half as pretty, you gave her your sweater, it’s just polyester, but you like her better~_ ’

Harry’s perfecting the exact amount of confectioner’s sugar on a batch of lemon bars when Barbara steps in to finish for him. 

“Go ahead, I’ll finish these.”

“My shift isn’t over for ten more minutes—“

“I’ll leave it on your timesheet, go ahead.” She ushers him back to the break room. Harry pouts but steps into the back, hanging up his apron and tossing his hairnet. Coat tucked in his arm, he steps out into the front end while tying his hair up and comes to a halt as he realises why Barbara is letting him go early. 

Louis’ outside in that denim jacket that looks so fucking good on him, smoking and, well, waiting. 

Harry finishes tucking up his hair and steps outside, trying not to be hopeful, especially when Louis immediately looks over at the sound of the bell and grins. 

It’s nice and cold outside after hours baking, but he shivers when Louis steps up to him and reaches up, wiping at his chin. 

“Flour?” He asks, and Harry notices he’s holding the cigarette behind his back because Harry doesn’t like the smell. It’s sweet and he might be holding his breath. It’s confectioners sugar, but he doesn’t correct it. 

“Shouldn’t you be with Heather right now?” 

Louis steps back and takes one more drag, before stabbing the fag out and tossing it in the cigarette bin nearby. 

“I met up with her this morning. Thought I’d take you to lunch.” It’s definitely not a ‘I’m choosing you, Harry’ but it’s also definitely not a ‘I chose her, Harry’ so maybe it’s just as good. 

They start to walk, and Harry tells him about his shift and the new crêpe recipe he’s thinking about bringing up to Barbara. Midway through, Louis reaches over and tangles their fingers together. He doesn’t let it faze him, because they always hold hands. He gently brushes his thumb over Louis’ scabbed, bruised knuckles and asks if he’s ready for the last bit of blocking in rehearsals tonight. 

“Oh, right. We’re doing our duet, aren’t we? Wonder how they’re going to masculinise that leather jumpsuit.” Louis laughs, tugging open the door to the food court. 

“I’m kinda hoping they’ll keep it the same.”

“Even the heels and lipstick?” 

“Especially the heels and lipstick.” Harry smirks, watching how Louis swallows thickly, but doesn’t let go of his hand when they stop in the Nando’s line. Usually he lets go of his hand once they reach wherever they’re going. Usually he doesn’t keep holding onto him, but he is now, his other hand fiddling with Harry’s bracelets just above their joined hands, which are still joined. Why are they still joined? 

“What should I get? I’m thinking—“

“Louis, did you ask her out?” Harry’s usually not one for interrupting, but he can hardly even  _think_ right now. The hope is starting to seep in, and he can’t let that happen unless there’s a reason he should. He wasn’t lying last night. He really would wait for Louis. He was prepared to wait.  _Is_ prepared to wait, so this surprising him for lunch and seemingly not caring about PDA is dangerous. Dangerous because if Louis has asked her out, then he doesn’t want to be held like this. Not if he’s just spent the morning kissing someone else. 

He’s willing to wait, not willing to be a dirty mistress. Or..mister? Whatever the male equivalent is, he doesn’t want to be it. 

“No, I didn’t ask her out. Even if I wanted to, she said that she watched the fight video and that she “can’t compete with Harry Styles”, her words.” 

“You didn’t want to?” It’s all Harry hears. Even if I wanted to,  _even_ if I wanted to. 

“No, I didn’t want to.” Louis squeezes his hand, looking a bit nervous, but he sort of always does as soon as they even come close to serious talk. Then they’re ordering, and Harry drops it for lunch, but his stomach never stops fluttering the whole time. After, Louis unclips his skateboard from the straps of his pack and says he can’t be late for his class. 

Harry has one too. Has three of them, actually, before rehearsals, but the conversation is unfinished. He doesn’t have a complete answer. Doesn’t know where they stand or if maybe Louis is too scared to say where they stand yet, or if he just wants to continue what they were before the sex came in? 

“Louis.” He huffs, exasperated as the boy sets his board down and holds it kicked up with the toe of his vans. With the bruises being worse the day after, he’s annoyingly hot, especially when Harry should be asking him to talk instead of just giving him a heated once-over. 

“We’ll talk tonight, okay?” He tightens the straps of his bag and picks up the board by the trucks to take off, but hesitates, probably seeing the worried look etched over Harry’s face. 

“I feel like you’re leaving anyway. Even if you didn’t choose her.” 

Louis gives him a smile like it’s the silliest thought in the world and steps up to him, lifting onto his tiptoes and pulls Harry closer by his belt loop, kissing him right there in the middle of the walkway in the middle of the campus in the middle of the day where anyone can see. 

“I’m not leaving, darling, stop pouting. I’ll see you in rehearsals.” He kisses him a second time, softly, eyes all blue and beautiful when he pulls away with a sweet smile. He turns and kicks off onto his board, weaving through the people towards the fine arts buildings, not wearing a helmet despite Harry begging him to on multiple occasions. 

He takes a breath and licks his lips. They taste like Nando’s and nicotine and something just distinctly  _Louis_. Walking to his own class, he’s almost in a daze. He isn’t leaving, and he didn’t choose Heather. There’s only one other option in this equation. 

His heart doesn’t slow for half an hour.

-

In rehearsals, Louis’ brighter than every spotlight shining in their eyes, twirling Harry around while they block You’re the One that I Want. It’s not even a part of the dance but Liam just exasperatedly adds it in when Louis won’t stop doing it. He sings like he’s never sung before, and he delivers his lines as if he’s auditioning for fucking Broadway. 

Harry’s helpless to do anything but watch. He’s so in love it hurts. At the end, Liam blocks them in to share a sweet kiss and leave the stage hand in hand, instead of flying off in a car. 

“I love you, Sandy.” Louis says, because he’s a freak who’s already memorised his script before they’ve even finished block week. 

“Oh, Danny.” Harry replies in a sigh like he’s meant to, and can’t help but giggle as they kiss, especially when Louis deepens it and sticks a hand in his curls, probably mussing up his bun. It’s just extra and he loves it. Loves him. 

“Short kiss, Danny! Just a short kiss!” Liam says over the mic with a grumble, muttering something to their choreographer about how he ‘hates it here’ or something. 

Louis flips him off, taking Harry’s hand and dragging him off of stage left instead of right where they’re meant to go, but nobody tells them to reset, probably happy to have their loud arses off the stage either way. 

“I think Liam’s regretting giving me Sandy.” Harry sighs as they make it to the dressing room and start packing up to leave. 

“I think so too. Isn’t it awesome?” Louis chuckles, and takes a minute to wipe sweat from his hairline, dropping the used tissue into Liam’s bag before they sneak away, only half hearing the man’s indignant shriek as they bust out of the building and into the cold night. 

They don’t stop laughing for approximately like 7 minutes, and then Louis curls a cool hand around his arm as they walk to his flat. It’s more evening than night, but the sun lowers earlier with the winter season, so it’s just the lights of the lamps walkway above them as they stroll along. 

“Liam‘s having dinner with his girlfriend tonight, so we’ll have the flat for at least an hour or two.” 

Harry takes a breath, peeking at him to see he’s staring resolutely ahead, but there’s a light dusting of a blush on his cheeks. 

“You said we will talk.” 

“Do we really..” Louis makes a frustrated sound, hand squeezing his inner elbow, “do I really need to say it, Haz?” 

Harry stops walking, pulling Louis to him by his waist. He didn’t plan to stop them directly under a lamppost, but it’s like fate, the yellow hue falling onto them and making Louis’ long eyelashes cast shadows over his cheekbones. God, he’s the prettiest person Harry’s ever laid eyes on, even now. Even after over a year of knowing each other. It still takes his breath away. It still makes his stomach ache with want. His heart, even more so. 

“I need you to say it.” He murmurs, and Louis takes a breath, hands a bit shaky when he rests them on Harry’s chest, touching at the beak of one of his birds, peeking out from under his layers. 

“You’re mine.” 

“I’ve been yours forever now.” Harry replies with a raised eyebrow. 

“And I’m yours.” Louis’ eyes flicker up to meet his, despite the way he’s chewing on the inside of his lip like he’s embarrassed. It’s a privilege, really. To render someone like Louis to nervousness. Nervous to admit that he’s gone for him too. Harry knew he was, of course, but hearing it is just..it’s euphoria, almost. 

“You’re mine. Outwardly? Officially? Boyfriends?” He can’t hide it, he just simply can’t. Wants to get a tattoo of Louis’ whole fucking body on his arse, probably. 

“Yeah, H. Boyfriends. I mean, if you want. Please?” As if he even needs to fucking ask the question. 

“God, yes. You don’t need to ask.”

“Of course I do. It’s very important to make sure we’re on the same page.” Louis sounds like he might get snarky, so Harry kisses him to shut him up, but the boy pulls away before it gets too heated. Before he can even think to pout about it, Louis tilts up closer to him, lips brushing his ear. 

“While I’m asking things..can you take me to bed now?” 

“Bed?” Harry replies, eyes fluttering just at the thought. 

“Yeah, I want everything. Want you to, to h-have me.” 

Harry’s breath catches as he understands why Louis’ whispering in his ear, hiding his face. 

“Are you askin’ me to fuck you, Lou?” 

“Please.” The boy simply responds. 

Harry would probably be embarrassed by how fucking quickly he gets them to Louis’ flat, but Louis doesn’t poke fun, equally as desperate as he is, failing to get his key in his door three times in a row while Harry kisses at his neck before they’re making their way inside. 

It’s a mess of clashing teeth and shedding clothes as they fall to Louis’ bed. There’s not much time spent for foreplay, so Harry’s nudging a lubed finger into the boy within five minutes, working a lovebite into his pec at the same time. 

“More, more.” Louis begs only moments after he presses in a second. 

“Gotta relax first, baby. It’ll hurt.” He scissors his fingers, feeling the boy clench around them like he can’t even take it. He avoids his prostate, knowing he’s too wound up to last long if he presses in too deep. 

“I know, f-fuck.” Louis hisses when he tucks in a third. He takes his time, stretching the boy open and kissing him to distract from the stretch. He knows none of it will compare. He knows Louis’ never been fucked before and probably hasn’t even used a dildo or anything, so he doesn’t quite get the importance of prepping. 

“It’s going to hurt, Lou, okay? Not in a good way, not until you relax.” He says as he rolls a condom on, then squeezes lube over the already lubricated rubber, even dabbing some on Louis’ hole for good measure. 

When he’s positioned, he takes Louis’ hand, pressing a gentle kiss to his wounded knuckles. The boy is clutching the pillow next to his head, delicious bicep flexing as he watches with wide eyes. 

“Can’t rush this, love. Just squeeze my hand, okay?” He tangles their fingers together, holding it to the mattress as he uses his free hand to guide himself past that tight ring of muscle. 

He watches Louis very closely. The boy’s eyebrows furrow, hand squeezing his, a broken noise falling from his lips. 

“Breathe, baby.” Harry rasps, inching in ever so slowly, digging his free hand into the sheets below them with how fucking good it feels. Louis’ so incredibly tight around him. Warm. 

Louis exhales a staggered breath when he bottoms out, eyes squeezed shut. 

“S’ a lot.” He whimpers, his own free hand reaching up to clutch his arm. Harry thinks he might push him away for a moment, but then Louis rolls his hips a bit like he’s searching for something. It doesn’t take but a moment to guess. 

Harry leans back a bit, easing out of him just a tad as he grasps Louis’ thigh and folds it up. With the new angle, he pitches forward and gives him exactly what he wants. 

“Oh.” Louis mewls, chin tipped up towards the ceiling, jaw slacking. He’s fucking beautiful. 

Harry slowly gets into a rhythm, and it feels so incredibly good that he loses it for a moment, slams into him too roughly, sliding him up the bed a bit. He stops completely, apology already queued up on his tongue when he sees Louis’ reaction. The boy reaches down, circling his fingers around his cock, at the base. Not in a way to pull himself off, but in a way to stop from coming. 

“Not too rough?” Harry makes sure anyway, separating their hands so he comb some of Louis’ hair back from his forehead, stuck with sweat. 

“No, no it’s—god, more, just like that.” Louis begs shamelessly, too far gone to care anymore. Harry bites back a grin, remembering his promise to make the boy forget his name, and reaches up to steady himself on the bars of the headboard, then starts to fuck him roughly, the bed creaking and slamming into the wall every time. Louis gets fucking loud, and it’s the hottest thing he’s ever seen. 

“Good, baby? Is it good?” Harry asks in a near growl, not relenting his constant slamming into him for even a second. 

“H-harder, Harry, Harry, Hazza—“ Louis chokes off when Harry gives him exactly that, leaning up and folding him in half, probably stretching his legs further than they can go, fingers sure to leave bruises on his hips. 

Louis comes within a minute, moaning so loudly that the neighbours are sure to complain, and that just gets Harry off more. Knowing everyone in the surrounding flats and probably even buildings can hear exactly what’s happening. Can hear just how much Louis’ giving up for him. Just for him. He clenches deliciously around him with the orgasm, spasming with the waves of it. 

“Fuck, I love you, baby, s-so much.” He groans, following pretty much immediately. He nuzzles up to the pillow next to Louis’ head as they catch their breaths. 

“M’ so full.” The boy mumbles like he’s drunk. Harry slips out of him with a chuckle, cleaning them up with whatever clothing Louis’ thrown closest to the bed in his tornado of a room. The boy just pouts but doesn’t otherwise complain. 

Then they’re all cuddled up on the bed, fan above them cooling them down. 

“That..perfect.” Harry sighs, hoping it conveys just how much he’s feeling. Louis laughs, arm over his eyes. 

“Yeah, I wish I’d known it would’ve been like that, like, a year ago. Wouldn’t have cared so much about trying to be straight.” 

Harry rolls over onto his side, propping his head up on his palm. 

“Knew you only wanted me for the sex.” 

Louis smiles, hand flying out blindly to slap him. It lands on his hip, and Harry does exactly nothing to stop it, only happy that Louis’ covering his eyes and can’t see how much he’s drinking him in right now. All post-sex and steamy and just fucking so hot. 

“So..no round two, then?” The boy asks, lifting his arm away to level him with his steely blue eyes. Harry grins and rolls over onto him, lips connecting immediately. They can both hear Liam enter the flat, front door slamming, but they don’t let up. 

If anything, Harry tries his hardest to make Louis even louder than the first round. 

-

“I always thought you’d be, um, the bottom.” 

Harry chokes on his pancakes, looking wide eyed at Liam, who just shrugs sheepishly. 

“Fuckin’ hell, it’s like 7AM.” He complains, coughing and helping the pancake down with some tea. 

“Sorry. It’s hard to ignore when he’s so loud. And you, like, talk so dirty. It’s just unexpected. It’s completely opposite of what I thought it would be like.” 

“You wanna watch next time, Li?” Harry asks, suddenly glad Louis’ in the shower. If he were hearing this, Liam would be sure to be the pranked endlessly for weeks. Months, maybe. 

“God no. Just, I dunno, don’t break his heart I’ll break you, or whatever I’m meant to say.” 

“If I break his heart I’ll gladly let you have at me, don’t worry.” 

That’s when Louis decides to step in the room, and he immediately walks over and plops right into Harry’s lap, stealing his toast. His hair’s sticking up all over the place like it always is after his shower, and he’s all warm and smooth. 

“You giving him the dad talk, Payno?” He asks, spraying crumbs everywhere that Harry’s going to have to clean later. He smiles, fond beyond himself. 

“Don’t know what you’re talking about..hey, I’m proud of you two.” Liam drops the stern act and smiles. 

“Aww, Liam!” Louis pretends to wipe tears, but Harry can see his eyes actually are a bit glossy. He wonders if the boy was nervous about it. About his flat and otherwise best mate finding out about them. 

“Fuck off, don’t be late to rehearsals or you’re both fired.” Liam grins and stands up, taking his breakfast back to his room. 

“Gotta be getting paid to be fired!” Louis calls to his retreating back. Liam just laughs and disappears down the hall.

Harry nuzzles up to Louis’ neck, peppering kisses over the bruises he left last night, hand flitting over his thighs. He knows he may have left a couple more marks there, as well. Everywhere, probably. 

“We’re going to be a nightmare for him.”

“Mmm, everyone, probably.” Harry replies, leaning in and munching a bite from his stolen toast before Louis can. 

“Get off me toast!” 

“Stealing it doesn’t make it yours.” Harry replies, squeezing Louis’ thigh just on the side of too hard. The boy stops his wriggling, and it gives Harry plenty of time to pluck the toast from his hand. 

Louis’ flushes pink when Harry just smiles knowingly, pulling him closer and feeding him the toast instead of eating it himself. 

“I hate you.” The boy murmurs, but accepts the bite. His eyes say otherwise, all sparkly and shit. 

“I love you.” Harry replies, knowing his dimples are in full blast and it’s probably cavity inducing but he doesn’t even fucking care. 

It’s worth it when Louis giggles softly and curls up to his chest, trying to hide as if Harry doesn’t know exactly what he looks like anyway. Happy. 

-

It’s not that he needed to hear the words, because he knows Louis is just as in this as he is, but the thought of hearing it out loud makes his heart soar. 

Which is probably why when he does say it, it’s so surprising. 

They’re in costume week, working through the show in what they’ll be wearing at the performances. The first half of the week Harry spends at a constant semi, calling for his lines on multiple occasions. It should almost be illegal for Louis Tomlinson to wear a leather jacket, let alone the chucks and the rolled jeans and the tucked in white t shirt. It should all be illegal. It’s too much. 

Somehow, he forgot he’d be in his own leather for the end of the show. He forgets all the way up until Thursday when they finally get around to it, and then he’s being handed a pair of leather skinnies. 

“Oh.” He mumbles, blinking as he pulls them on. Then comes black button up, which he tucks in, and unbuttons the whole top quarter. A pair of actually really nice heeled red ankle boots, something he’d probably wear on a regular day anyway. Lastly, the t-bird jacket, draped over his shoulders. 

“And then we’ll let the curls go free. You’ll spend most of the show with them combed back, of course.” The second year in charge of it all is telling him, but Harry’s distracted. He wonders how Louis’ going to react. His birds are nearly fully on display. 

“Alright, places, Sandy!” Liam’s assistant director calls into the room. 

Harry makes his way to the wings, receiving many whistles on the way. The boys are already on stage, ready for the scene. The scene that’s already happening. Oh god. 

“Bet a fiver he’s going to freeze?” Kendall asks, grinning next to him, all got up in her Frenchy costume. 

“You’re on. I’ve never seen him choke on stage even once.” Harry shakes her hand, sealing the deal. It calms his nerves a bit. It is quite the outfit. 

Then it’s time to walk out. Louis’ got his back turned as he’s meant to, and Harry steps up behind him, acting out as he’s meant to, pretending to be confused about the cigarette. 

“Tell me about it, stud.” He drawls. 

Louis turns, and either he’s a really good actor, or he’s genuinely struck, because he plays the part of a grovelling Danny really fucking well. At the end of their song, he pulls Harry in just as he’s meant to, eyes raking over him. He’s meant to say his line, but he just stares for a good few tense seconds, eyes beating right into his, looking almost frightened. Like he’s been startled or something. 

“I love you, Harry.” He says, all resemblance of Danny’s accent dropping, voice cracking on his name. 

“It’s Sandy, Danny!” Liam says over the mic, but neither of them move. Neither of them even breathe, probably. 

“Wh—“

“I love you. I..god, I love you back. I never could have chosen anyone else, it was never a competition, I..” he blinks rapidly, eyes glossy like he’s emotional, and probably only then realising that he’s confessing his love in front of the entire fucking theatre department with a bright spotlight solely on the two of them. 

“It’s the outfit, isn’t it?” Harry asks, just to break the suddenly thick silence. There’s a bit of laughter from the onlookers, and Louis grins, all bright and shit, and leans in to kiss him. They’re sort of following the blocking anyway, in their own way. A ragged cheer goes through the crowd surrounding them, and even Liam laughs through the mic from the audience. Harry hands Kendall the five note once they’re offstage with a sigh. 

They end up having to button up more of his shirt and let out his tight leather pants a bit after Louis forgets his lines the next four times Harry steps out in that costume. Niall takes the piss, then acts all surprised when he finds his shoes filled with chocolate syrup the next day. Louis immediately blames it on Liam, who retaliates by changing Louis’ lube out for toothpaste, setting off an endless prank war between the four of them for the entirety of those few more months of rehearsals. In the end, they sort of all have lost, and it gets to the point where they have to sit down and form an actual hand-written peace treaty to end the war. 

Harry wouldn’t have it any other way. 

‘ _wish i were.._ ’

**Author's Note:**

> As I mentioned in the top note, I know the song is a sad song, but my last fic was so angsty that I decided to turn this one around. Originally I was going to do like the song says and have Louis move on with no feelings and Harry is left alone, but it just didn’t sit right in my gut. I’ve written endings with this ship that are far worse but idk I guess I just couldn’t with this one, it just felt a little too relatable ig lmao. 
> 
> Hope yall don’t mind. If anyone was specifically looking for a shitty sad ending, check out my other fic SOUL and it’ll give you that nice ache you want haha 🖤


End file.
